


Saving Shard

by MaiasPen



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: EgoShipping, F/M, pokeshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 22:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 92,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17927342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaiasPen/pseuds/MaiasPen
Summary: COMPLETE! In mere minutes Misty became both engaged and Team Rocket's hostage. As Ash struggles to rescue his fiancée on the outside, a mysterious stranger fights to save her on the inside. A man who needs Misty's help just as much as she needs his. *This story has been remastered from its original version* Pokeshipping X Egoshipping love triangle.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Authors Note: I wrote this story in 2007. In winter of 2019 I returned to it. I still love this story and I needed to make changes and corrections. The story deserved it. There are no edits that alter the main storyline or hinder the flow of my ‘then’ writing-style. However, I cleaned up structure and added a several sections (even a new character) which develop the plot considerably. It is my hope to elevate your reader-enjoyment. If you read this story years ago, please consider giving it another read now. It was a good read before, but I daresay it’s much better right now. Please take a moment to review.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon or any of its characters.  
> Dedication: Midnight-mist-87, should this story ever find your eyes, please know it is all for you, my friend. I miss you.

Prologue  
There was no suicide note. But then again, a note wasn't necessary. It was obvious that Gary Oak's death was not accidental.  
Before plunging twenty meters into a rock-infested river, Gary . . . did something. Something that proved he intended to die. The young man removed his six Pokeballs from his belt. He then stacked them beneath a tree at the cliff’s edge. He stacked his Pokeballs neatly and with thought, arranging them in the order by which he had acquired each monster.  
Had Gary accidentally tumbled to his doom, the balls would have tumbled with him. The Pokemon would have either perished or released themselves and saved him . . . neither a risk that Gary was willing to take. His actions spoke volumes beyond what a note ever could.  
There were several theories about what happened to Gary after he jumped. The most popular: his body was immediately shred by the jagged rocks and his remains washed away by the current. Another likely theory: he died upon impact with the water and his body devoured by the Croconaw population. A Croconaw would not eat a living human, but a dead one was an entirely different matter. Some speculated that — even had Gary miraculously survived the fall –- he would most undoubtedly have drowned. The river was violent, deep and flushed out into the South Sea.  
The police discovered Gary's left boot twelve kilometers downstream from the Pokeballs. Several kilometers further were the remains of his knapsack. Police and tracking Pokemon scoured the river for five days. Professor Samuel Oak hired a private investigation team to search for six weeks after that.  
The tragic story blazed through the media, making every national headline. The promising young researcher, grandson to the world renowned Professor Oak, was gone.  
Everyone knew that there was zero chance of survival, and everyone was sure to tell the old professor this. It was not right to give him hope. But the professor could not believe that his grandson was dead. He could not believe that Gary would have ended his own life. He refused to hold a funeral or a memorial service. He wanted closure. He needed it.  
Finally, after a full year had passed, a funeral was held in Pallet Town. It was held on the date which would have been Gary's Sweet Sixteenth birthday. Hundreds of people and Pokemon attended to show their respects.  
The cloud of love which had blinded the grandfather gave way to the realistic reasoning of the scientist: Gary could not have survived that fall. It had been a year. Gary was truly dead and by his own doing. Professor Oak finally accepted the fact that his beloved grandson was never coming home.  
Just a teenager and dead.  
It was a catastrophic loss.  
No one, not even Professor Oak, had suspected how depressed Gary was. No one saw his suicide coming.  
Gary Oak had the world at his feet, and yet, he chose death.  
They buried a picture of Gary in a small coffin . . . it was all that they could do.  
They never found his body.


	2. Prologue

Chapter 1  
Ten years later . . .   
On this day the paparazzi became a crazed pack of Houndour. Cameras snapped like rabid jaws. Microphones jutted outward like claws. Reporters yowled questions with ravenous urgency – starving for just a picture, just a tidbit of information! The media was consumed within a frantic whirlwind of excitement. But who could really blame them? After all, it wasn't every day that the Pokemon Master became engaged to be married.  
Even as the media swallowed her whole, the smile was not once deterred from Misty Waterflower's lips. She giggled cheerfully as her fiancé, Master Ash Ketchum, led her through the labyrinth of reporters.  
Representatives were present from every major television network, magazine, newspaper and online gossip site. The media was insatiable for details: How did Ash propose? Where did he get that big diamond ring? How much did it cost? When was the wedding? Who would be invited? What would Misty wear? The bombardment of questions was incessant. Misty did not have any answers for them either, Ash had only proposed to her twenty minutes before! In fact, the two of them were just now leaving the restaurant where Ash had popped the question. Misty wondered how the reporters even knew about the engagement already? Misty suspected that their waiter had tipped the media off. There was no other way that the paparazzi would have had the foresight to be waiting outside.  
Usually reporters irked Misty, they were constantly stalking her famous boyfriend – correction – fiancé. But not today. Today Misty was far too gleeful to play Whack the Microphone. She was actually enjoying the attention upon her beautiful ring and, she truly wanted the world to know that she was the future Mrs. Pokemon Master!  
Ash and Misty had only been dating for three months. Despite this short period his proposal was not a surprise to her. Although Misty was now twenty-five years old, she and Ash had loved one another since they were children. They didn't need a long-term relationship to know that they wanted to spend their lives together. If anything, this engagement was overdue. Simply put: the pair blamed life for keeping them apart. Career changes, other relationships, family problems, and their own confessional nerves. All of these things added up to their delay in getting together. But none of those factors mattered any more. What mattered was that they were together now.  
Ash laced his fingers with Misty's, continuing to guide her through the dizzying camera flashes. He offered her a lopsided smile. He had been Pokemon Master for a year now, but still was not accustomed to such tremendous attention. However, Misty knew that Ash loved it! He had always thrived within the spotlight. He had always yearned for glory with his Pokemon at his side. Now he and Pikachu were international celebrities. Ash had made his dream come true, and Misty couldn't be prouder.  
Ash teasingly tossed a few scraps of information to the crowd. He thanked the media for their interest, never once cursing them for prying. Misty played her part, holding her left hand high so that every camera had a fair chance of photographing the ring. Becoming the Pokemon Master’s wife would be a mixed blessing, Misty knew, but she loved Ash enough to endure these media- Houndours.  
Ash told one reporter that he ‘had proposed prior to their romantic dinner’. Misty told another that Ash ‘had placed the ring within a diamond encrusted Pokeball’. But neither Ash or Misty relayed the details of his passionate proposal . . . his speech . . . those words were for their private memories only.  
Ash had taken Misty's hand in his and, as their eyes melted together, he began to confess all the feelings he had harbored for her. He told Misty that he loved her. That she had been ‘the one’ since she'd fished him out of that river. They shared a laugh remembering the bicycle that was destroyed, and Misty pointed out that he'd still not repaid that debt. Ash winked, promising that he was about to give her something better . . .  
Did he ever!  
The ring was so dazzling that it seized the breath from her. It was like Ash had managed to place a real star upon a band of gold.  
"I do love you," Ash had repeated through a smile, "it just took me a while to realize how much. And then it took me a while longer to get up the courage to tell you. Misty, I know that neither of us has ever had the best patience or the best timing with the other. I've felt like, no matter how many times I saw you over the years, the timing was never right to tell you what I was feeling. If I was going to tell you what was inside my heart, I wanted everything to be perfect. When our paths crossed three months ago at the League Games, I finally convinced myself to take the chance. When I asked you out then, I was more nervous than I had been when facing off with Lance for my Master title. But I knew I had to do it. Asking you to dinner that night turned out to be the best chance I have ever taken. And here we are again, dinning at the same restaurant I took you to three months ago. I want to always be with you, Misty. I love you and—“ Ash let the ring hover over her left finger. “—I want you to be my wife."  
Of course Misty had said ‘yes!’, this was a moment she had been dreaming of since she was a young girl. Misty was thanking her lucky stars that she and Ash did happen to be at the same Orange League Games three months ago. Ash had been a guest speaker at the event, and Misty was there cheering on one of her nieces. As Ash had said: when their paths crossed the timing was perfect. They were both single. They were both ready for love. They were both set with their careers (Ash as Pokemon Master and Misty as organizer of the Orange Islands Water-type training program). When they saw one another at the League Games neither wasted a moment: Ash asked her out on the spot and Misty agreed at once. The two had been inseparable every weekend since. Because Ash now lived at the Indigo Plateau and Misty in the Orange Islands, they took turns visiting every other weekend, but, both agreed that they needed more. The long distance relationship was too difficult. Once they were ‘officially married’ Misty was going to leave her job in the Orange Islands. She was disappointed about this, in fact, she tried her best not to let Ash know how very sad she was to leave this post. Living on a tropical island had been a fantasy realized. Pure water-Pokemon-training-bliss. But . . . Misty knew that she could always find another job around The Plateau or in Viridian City. She could never find another Ash.  
It was also unrealistic for Ash to give up his job, he was THE Pokemon Master. All that truly mattered was that they would be together. Their future was incredibly bright. They had everything to look forward to.  
Misty certainly did not regret accepting the ring! When Ash had presented her with a diamond speckled Pokeball, Misty knew exactly what was inside – the key to her future with Ash! It the most glamorous ring she had ever seen. Misty had never been big on jewelry, but this diamond was so sparkly that (for once in her life) she identified with her materialistic older sisters. Misty was going absolutely ga-ga over the thing. She couldn't wait to show her sisters, they would be ecstatic. Daisy, Lilly and Violet were probably watching the news right now, and already fighting over who would be the maid of honor.  
“Hey, Babe?” Ash's voice nudged Misty from her thoughts. The prowling reporters suddenly became invisible to her. She was entranced by how handsome Ash was in this moment just . . . smiling at her. His raven hair whipped across his face, chestnut eyes shining with affection. This man loved her.  
"Yeah?" Misty asked, running her thumb across his knuckles.  
Ash gestured across the parking lot to a pair of parked limousines. “I've arranged for your limo to take you to Cerulean to see your sisters. I’m sure they’re going crazy to start wedding plans! I’ve gotta get back to The Plateau A.S.A.P. for work.”  
A frown threatened Misty’s lips, she didn't want to be separated from her fiancé so soon . . . she had hoped that they could spend the rest of the day together, or at least another hour. But Misty understood that Ash had a very demanding job. Over the past three months she had begun adjusting to him disappearing and reappearing Gengar-style. Despite her disappointment, Ash’s thoughtful gesture was not lost on Misty. She appreciated him sending her home to see her sisters.  
Misty forced a smile before Ash (or the media) could detect her hesitancy. She would express her feelings later, but this was not the time or place. "Let's sprint for it!" She challenged, pointing to the paparazzi .“That’s the only way we’re makin’ it past them!”  
Ash flaunted his classic goofy-grin and the two dashed through the cluster of reporters. When they reached the limousines Ash's lips were upon Misty's at once. The restaurant parking lot became a wild roar of excitement, every photographer yearned for a photo of the smooching future newlyweds.  
Misty ignored the yelping and the flashing, none of them mattered. She only wanted to relish how sincere Ash's lips felt against hers.  
”I love you, Babe.” Ash whispered, releasing her lips. "I'll call you later."  
"I'll be waiting.” Misty cooed. “I love you too, Ash."  
Ash placed one final kiss upon her nose before getting into his own limo. Misty hid her sorrow like an award-winning actress.  
She watched Ash's limo disappear down the street, then remembered that her own was still parked and waiting for her to get inside. Sighing, Misty opened the backdoor. Her driver, Old Hal, must have been too media-shy to get out and open it for her. But that was fine with Misty, she never needed any guy to open a door for her, she was just accustomed to Old Hal insisting on it. He had been driving her around for weeks now (courtesy of Ash), and Misty hated it when he fretted over her like a child.  
Eager to escape the paparazzi, Misty immediately plopped down on the seat and slammed the limo door behind her. Old Hal floored it, and they were instantly on their way. "Wow, Hal!” She huffed, turning toward the front seat. "Can you believe th—!”  
Misty felt as though she’d been slammed by a charging Rhydon! Every molecule of air was blasted from her lungs! Her eyes widened with alarm, her arms thrashed backward, sour bile lodged in her throat . . .  
Old Hal was NOT in the driver’s seat.  
Instead there were two other men up front.  
Both wore black ski-masks over their heads.  
One man was piloting the auto and the other held a gun at her head.  
"Hello, Miss Waterflower.” The gunned man hissed like an Arbok, his pistol inching closer. "I suggest that you sit there nicely and not struggle while I blindfold you."  
With Rapidash-like reflexes the man leapt into the backseat next to her. He clutched his gun in one hand and a blindfold in the other. The Rhydon was now stampeding back and forth from Misty's stomach to her heart. She could not breathe. Her heart hammered uncontrollably beneath her ribs. “What?!" Misty shrieked. "No way!" she yanked on the door handle. Misty didn't care that the driver was already blazing down the highway. She would rather jump to her death then be abducted by these freaks! Misty pulled harder on the handle, but alas, the door would not budge.  
"Child safety locks.” The gunman stated flatly.  
Misty stared at him, utterly shocked. She cursed herself for not bringing any Pokemon along! She was wearing a light summer dress, it had no pockets and her handbag was barely large enough to fit a tube of lip-gloss, let alone a Pokeball. She was defenseless.  
Without warning the gunman lurched toward her, seizing her forearm – hard! Misty fought against him, trying to break his hold. But the gunman jerked her toward him, yanking her arm like a Tyranitar pulling a weed from wet sand. Misty could feel her muscles blister with agony.  
"Stop!" Misty shouted, refusing to sound as terrified as she was. ”Who are you?"  
“We're your kidnappers.” the gunman answered coolly.  
Misty raised her free hand, she was going to punch his lights out! She was willing to gamble that these men wanted her alive and would not shoot. But the gunman was an experienced grappler, he easily dodged her fist and pinned her head against the window. Misty wished to Zapdos that the glass was not tinted black – no one would ever see her being attacked in here.  
The gunman proceeded to bang her head against the interior. Misty could hear the sickening crack as her skull collided four times with the door. She could taste blood and vomit churning in her throat as her vision began to stain red. Misty wanted to scream! She needed to wipe the blood from her eyes! She tried to lift her arms but the gunman grabbed her wrists. Misty heard a metallic click and realized that she'd been handcuffed. Next a blindfold was over her eyes. Without her hands she was nearly helpless to resist, but still Misty kicked and bucked her body. Her protests only landed her a smack across the jaw.  
"Why?" Now did Misty’s voice tremble, but her emotions were wrought from far more anger than fear. "How dare you! Where is Old Hal?"  
Cruel snickering lashed her ears. "Old Hal?" The gunman jested. "The driver? Oh, he's about eighteen meters below the Saffron Lake by now."  
Bitter tears stung Misty's eyes . . . Poor Old Hal. She was actually relieved that the blindfold prevented these psychos from seeing her weep. "Why are you doing this?"  
“You are the Pokemon Master’s fiancee."  
"Is it money that you want? Because Ash will give you anything, you don't have to do this.”  
"Nah, not da money.” The driver finally spoke up. He sounded like a grumbling Onix. "What we want from Ketchum, he'll be hard-pressed to give. But with you we may finally have a chance."  
Dread swelled in Misty's stomach like an ulcer. "Team Rocket.” She seethed. "You want to use me as a ransom demand. You think Ash will trade me for THE Pokemon." It was not a question, Misty already knew the answer.  
"Well, that is the idea, Miss Waterflower."  
Misty forced herself to breathe. "Then you might as well kill me now. Ash will never see that monster back in your hands."  
"We'll see about that, my dear, won't we.” Mocked the gunman. "The Pokemon Master might find sacrificing his lady love a tad difficult. At least, we are counting on that. And you should too. We guarantee we'll do whatever we must to get your fiancé to crack."  
Misty surrendered against the seat cushion, her temples throbbing and her senses spinning. Even her ability to think was hammered by a merciless migraine.  
Ash would never allow that genetic-freak-of-a-Pokemon back into the hands of Team Rocket. That Pokemon had once massacred thousands under Team Rocket’s will. It was the reason that Professor Samuel Oak was dead. Protecting this Pokemon from the Rockets . . . it was the sworn duty, the sacred vow, the number one responsibility of the reigning Pokemon Master. Misty would sooner see Ash break a wedding vow. She would willingly die before she saw the monster released. And she knew that Ash would willingly die first as well . . .  
He was a true Pokemon Master.  
Team Rocket had wasted their time. Their plan had backfired before it began. . .  
. . . and she may be killed because of it.  
Misty's blindfold was now drenched from silent tears.   
Ash can't save me.  
As though reading her thoughts the driver spoke up: "Self-sacrifice is easy, Miss Waterflower. Dat’s why we didn't abduct Ketchum. However, sacrificing someone ya love . . ." his voice trailed off. His point was made without any further words.  
But the Rockets had underestimated Pokemon Master Ash Ketchum. His first love was — and always would be — the Pokemon. He would give Team Rocket nothing. And Misty would be proud of him until her final breath.  
Misty quietly mourned her future in the backseat.  
It was all that she could do.  
Engaged for less than an hour.  
And everything was already ending.  
She may never see Ash again.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
The drive to hell seemed eternal. Blindfolded, banged up and bleeding, Misty had zero ability to judge where she was headed. She felt as though she had spent the last few hours riding a looping rollercoaster in the dark. Misty was beyond disoriented! She had no idea if she was even sitting up or lying down. Her entire body felt like one giant pulsating wound. Team Rocket had even switched automobiles twice throughout the journey, which only confused her further!  
Misty did not utter a word to her abductors for the remainder of the ride. On the contrary, she pretended that she had passed out. It was her hope that the Rockets might engage one another in a conversation, perhaps slip a small detail as to where she was going. Unfortunately Misty's acting was in vain, an ancient tomb was probably a livelier place than the automobile. The driver never even stopped to refuel and the gunman never flinched. Neither man even had the need to cough or sneeze.  
When at last the Rockets reached their destination, Misty was dragged (still blindfolded) into some sort of elaborate building. She was pushed inside of several elevators (traveling both up and down), also shoved around dozens of corridors, up stairwells, down stairwells, inside doors, out doors . . .  
An Alakazam's Confusion attack would have seemed dull compared to this confounded treatment. Misty might as well have been sucked into a black hole, for her body was already moving against her will throughout a dark maze.  
Finally, after what felt like a twelve kilometer hike, the two Rockets pushed her inside a room and onto the floor.  
Dried blood had formed a snarl within Misty's hair and her scalp itched terribly. She knew that wishing for a shower was too much, but still she longed for these Rockets to at least un-cuff her so that she could scratch. Her hope was not granted, the only thing they removed was her blindfold. The light quickly invaded her sight and Misty winced loudly, the brightness like Poison Powder in her eyes.   
This room held Misty a prisoner now. And this room was freezing cold. Ceramic tiles were like cubes of ice. Misty’s summer dress and heels did little to shield her skin. Team Rocket must have had their central air system cranked to the maximum.  
A lone Rocket guarded the rooms only exit. This man did nothing but glare at her. Misty tried to ignore him. Her two abductors had disappeared after dumping her inside this room. Misty was relieved that they went away, the gunned man’s violent assault haunted her. She did not need a mirror to know that her forehead displayed a massive bruise. Bashing her head into the limousine window once would have been plenty. He had no reason to do it four times.  
Misty listed her ailments in her head:  
Lightheaded.  
Nauseated.  
Migrane.   
Aching forearm.  
Shivering.  
And starving, too.  
Misty struggled against her lungs, forcing herself to breathe. Panic could overwhelm her at any moment. Her emotions were wielding a ferocious battle within her. A part of her wanted to cry and beg for mercy, while the rest of her wanted to curse and scream at these kidnapping lunatics! But, somehow, Misty found the wits to remain silent, probably for the first time in her life.  
Misty instructed herself to remain calm until an opportunity presented itself for her to make a verbal plea. Maybe some half-way reasonable Rocket member would eventually turn up? She could make an excellent case as to why these savages were wasting their time kidnapping her. Misty knew that Ash could never give Team Rocket what they wanted. He would condemn the world if he relinquished their unnatural Pokemon back to them. Team Rocket might have created the Pokemon, but there was no way that they could have control of it again. It was a lethal weapon in their hands, that had been proven once before. Over three thousands gravestones stood as a reminder. And Misty sure as hell did not want to join them!  
Ash would either have to find a way to rescue her or outwit Team Rocket. And if he couldn’t, Misty was on her own. Even entertaining the idea of escape was absurd as long as she was handcuffed. But Misty needed to be vigilant for the opportunity, should one arise.   
Despite her fatigue, Misty conducted a thorough scan of her environment. The room was no more than five meters in width or length. The ceilings were about the same in height – it was a perfect box, Misty decided, a perfect prison. The door was solid metal and Misty noticed a keypad near the entry, clearly you needed a code to gain either entrance or exit. There were no windows. No furniture. Not even a ‘Pro-Rocket’ poster to decorate the walls. She was not even given a stool to sit on. All this room boasted was that horrible guard.   
The guard wore the standard white Team Rocket uniform, Misty knew it well due to Jessie and James stalking of Pikachu during her youth. But unlike Jessie and James, this Rocket had a hideous face! His skin was the hue of egg yolk and it seemed to sag from his face like melting candle wax. Misty continued to ignore him. She wished he would grant her the same favor, he was way too interested in staring at her. If Team Rocket had planed to make her feel intimidated, then they did a good job when selecting this goon as a guard.  
Misty's stomach growled loudly, the guard must have heard it but he said nothing. The dinner she had enjoyed with Ash was long gone from her stomach.  
Ash. . .  
Misty's heart wrenched as she thought of her fiancé again. By now he must have learned that she was missing. Misty did not know if Team Rocket had contacted him yet with their impossible ransom demand. She hated being kept — quite literally — in the dark about her own fate! This feeling of helplessness crushed her like a Graveler's Rock Throw. She despised feeling weak and defenseless! She was strong! Misty Waterflower would be NO man’s damsel in distress! Not ever.   
And yet . . . here she was. Kidnapped, handcuffed and on her knees. Misty fought against frustrated tears. If only she were allowed one phone call, heck, even murderers got to use a phone in jail! Misty just wanted Ash to know that she was alive. She just wanted him to know that she loved him. She wanted to tell him to never give these bastards what they wanted.   
Would Team Rocket really kill her if Ash did not deliver? Or were they bluffing?  
Misty’s bloody scalp served to warn her that these Rockets were cutthroat. These were not the ‘Jessie and James societal nuisance’ branch of Rockets — these were the ‘Kanto’s Most Wanted’ unit. Serious outlaws. Misty had to continue believing that Ash would figure something out on the outside, while she kept her eyes open for breakout chances within.  
Misty Waterflower had survived plenty of insane circumstances before, she could endure this one, too . . .  
Her life with Ash could NOT be over already. Not when it hadn't even started yet, that just wasn't fair!   
"Enter!"  
The metal door flew open with the force of a Whirlwind attack! Misty would have jumped had her body any energy left. Standing in the doorway were three more Team Rocket members: one woman and two men. All three were clad in identical white Rocket uniforms. The woman was no older than Misty and her hair fell in blond piles across her chest. This female Rocket looked as though she were meant to be on the cover of a fashion magazine, she was undeniably beautiful. Misty wondered why she had chosen to lose her life to the Rockets? The woman's features were twisted into an irate frown and, despite her good-looks, she did not seem friendly. The men were very similar in build, both tall, lean and muscular. One was in his mid-thirties, he had dark hair and a face that seemed permanently carved into a scowl. The other man was much older, certainly over fifty. The older man’s head was shaved as smooth as a grape and his eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets like a Venonat. This bald man clutched a handgun and his fingers stroked the barrel as though it were the tail of an Eevee.  
If first impressions were worth anything: Misty would have avoided each of them had she passed them out on the streets.  
The woman eyed Misty as though she were a scrawny Caterpie. The men both turned their attention upon the blond, watching with anticipation. It was immediately obvious that this woman was calling the shots.  
"She is not banged up enough, Remington.” The woman spat, scowling at the younger of the two men.  
The younger Rocket, Remington, shrugged. "Sorry, Glare, she was pretty well-behaved in the auto. I had no need."  
That voice! Misty stiffened.  
"N.K.?" Glare turned to the bald man.  
"Don't blame me, I was drivin’. I couldn’t rough her up.” His voice was a low familiar rumble . . .  
Misty shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold. These are the men who abducted me!   
Glare sighed, clearly frustrated. She then reached into a small knapsack and withdrew a camera. "I need blood in these pictures. We can't propose the deal without strong evidence. We need to shake the Pokemon Master. C'mon, we can’t disappoint the Boss."  
The Boss? What's going on? What are they going to do to me?  
"Want me to do it?" offered the egg-yolk skin Rocket who had been standing guard. Misty had almost forgotten about him.  
"No. You can actually get lost.” Glare snapped. The ugly guard instantly hustled from the room, he seemed anxious to get away from her. This Glare chick actually frightened the scariest-looking man in the room! "Remington?" She pressed.  
"I got it.” Remington yawned, rolling up his sleeves. He approached Misty with the ease of someone about to pluck berries from a tree.  
Panic now seized Misty like a death grip! This sick-o was about to beat her!  
"Wait!" Misty attempted to move backward, to get away, but she was already up against the wall. She had nowhere to go. She was defenseless! Trapped! Her instincts were screaming at her! Demanding that Misty shield herself with her hands, but of course, they were still bound behind her by the cuffs. She was robbed of her basic ability to try and block the assault. “Don’t do this! Let’s talk about this!”  
"Sorry, Miss Waterflower, it's not personal. But you can understand the importance of sending your fiancé convincing pictures that you’re really in danger." Remington used the same chilling tone as when he'd banged her head inside the auto.  
"Please! Don't! Don—!”  
Like a battering ram, Remington's fist smashed against her face. Misty knew that he had collided with her right eye, but physically, she could feel nothing. In this moment her senses had abandoned her. Her capacity for feeling had fled, only to be replaced by numbing shock. It was her body's last resort – a defense mechanism to keep her sane. Misty's consciousness began to waver, her eyelashes fluttered shut and she suspected that her body was moving . . .  
Misty collapsed upon the floor. She could not even feel the cold tiles beneath her cheek. Something curious drizzled down her face . . . it was hot and sticky like syrup.   
Voices conversed all around her. But what were they saying? Misty could not understand them. The words seemed slurred, far away like echoes . . . were they even speaking a language that she knew? What was happening?  
Rough hands were upon Misty now, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to sit up again. Misty's eyelids were insufferably heavy, she struggled to open them, to see what was going on. She successfully managed the left eye, but her right would not comply. That syrup was like shellac, sealing her eyelid shut. Misty glanced upward, Remington had propped her against the wall. His hand was again raised, preparing to strike her. Misty moaned in protest, lacking the strength to even verbally plead with him. She could only watch as his fist swung toward her face . . . she braced herself for the critical impact. . .  
. . . only . . .  
. . . none came.  
Instead there were more voices.   
Angry voices.  
Hands were upon her shoulders again. Only, these ones were not rough . . . they were . . . gentle . . .?  
Misty's body was carefully guided downward. Perplexed, she dared a glance upward.  
Now there was yet another man in the room. Another Rocket. This man was standing with his back aimed at Misty. He was arguing with Glare and the others.  
Misty inhaled carefully, her pulse thundering beneath her temples. At once she began to comprehend that the substance upon her face was not syrup, but rather her own blood.   
Breathe, Misty! She urged herself. This is no time to panic! This was priceless time that she needed to gather her wits. To think!  
Every joint in Misty's body felt like a flaming twig, ready to snap or be devoured by fire. Her muscles burned, they were stiff, but still she managed to prop herself upon her elbows.   
As best as she could (with one working eye) Misty studied this new Rocket: he was at least six feet tall. Like most Rockets, he had a lean athletic build. Misty was certain that these guys spent half their days lifting weights and jogging. This Rocket’s hair was so blue he looked like an Articuno fanboy. And these azure strands were styled into a wild array of spikes, which made him seem even taller still. Attached to his belt were a few Pokeballs and across his back was secured a very large gun. Misty did not know what kind of gun it was, but she did not doubt that it could blast her entire arm off.  
Misty didn't need to see this Rocket’s face to know that he was angry, she could hear it in his voice. Misty concentrated hard, struggling to understand what was being said. Her ears slowly began to regain their accuracy.  
"Shard!" Glare shrieked as though this man had blasted off her arm. "We need these pictures to be bloody."  
"I know that.” Shard (as Glare identified him) had a voice that was calm, controlled, and as icy as his hair. Glare actually flinched. "Allow me to remind you: that the Boss put ME in charge of this operation. And I authorized photos, not brutality. We are not out to kill her.” Shard turned toward Misty now, pointing down at her.  
Misty gaped up at him . . . should she be terrified or hopeful?  
Unlike the other Rockets, this young man wore a mask. It was a small eye mask   
like you would expect the villain in a comic book to wear. The mask perfectly matched Shard's hair color. Because the mask only shielded his eyes, Misty could still access the rest of his face. He was about her age. Like Glare, his features seemed destined for a fashion magazine cover, not a prison photo. Shard was incredibly handsome. But he, also like Glare, had chosen the life of a Rocket, of a killer.  
Shard's sight seemed fixed upon Misty. Perhaps he was accessing her condition? Misty was unsure because she could not actually see his eyes. His sight was concealed by a thin screen-fabric within the mask. Shard could see out but no one could see in. His eyes were totally hidden. Misty had an uncomfortable feeling that Shard was making eye contact with her and she looked away, peering instead at his big black boots. She felt vulnerable beneath his mysterious stare.  
Was this young man trying to help her or not?!  
"Take the picture.” Shard ordered, his tone void of emotion.  
"Yes, Sir.” Glare waltzed by him, evident bite in her tone. She and Shard glowered at once another . . . intensely. Misty wondered if there was something else going on here? Remington seemed extremely uptight, he an N.K. exchanging constant nods.  
Misty did not want to look at the camera, but Shard bent down and grabbed her chin. He turned her face toward Glare.   
“No!” Misty yelled with all the volume her lungs could muster. Even weak and bloody, she was not going to let them snap this photo without protest! If they shot it — if Ash saw that picture of her bruised and bloody face— it was going to break his heart.  
“No? Like you have a say.” Glare snickered. “This photo will be the perfect motivator for your Master Ketchum to give our Pokemon back.”  
“It will motivate him alright! Motivate him to figure out how to rescue me and bring you all down!” Misty actually impressed herself with the power in her voice.  
Shard’s grip on her chin relaxed just a tad, but not from a fear reaction. He was actually . . . laughing. Reacting as though Misty had told a clever joke. “Ketchum couldn’t figure out how to melt ice in the desert. You really think he’s gunna figure out how to rescue you?”  
Misty nodded bravely. “We’ll see who’s laughing when Ash comes for me!”  
Apparently Misty was an ‘up and coming comedian’, because all of the Rockets were snickering now. Shard shook his head, as though pitying her, and said: “Ketchum’s own fiancee was abducted right under his nose. I’ve never seen anyone so pathetic.”  
“Have you tried a mirror?!”  
The background snickering evolved into a cackle of loud laugher. N.K. Remington and Glare apparently found Misty’s mouth-off to be hilarious.   
Shard, however, was silent. He tightened his grip on Misty’s chin, turning her to face him. He made a face at her, his nose crinkling. But with that mask hiding his eyes, Misty could not tell if the emotional source was irritation or amusement.  
“The photo, Glare. Now.” Shard ordered.  
Misty struggled to shake her face from his grasp, but Shard was Machamp-strong and restrained her with little effort.  
Glare stifled her laughter long enough to raise the camera. The picture was shot and Misty felt as though Glare had nailed her with a bullet.  
DAMMIT! These bastard Rockets were going to use her. Use the love which she and Ash shared as their trashy blackmail. It was disgusting!   
Misty's stomach reeled with nausea and she swallowed hard, forcing the sour-liquid down her esophagus. She would not give these Rockets the satisfaction of seeing her become sick. They would just love watching her crumble. It was NOT going to happen. If she was going to survive in here, she was going to have to survive on anger.  
“Glare, you’re dismissed.” Shard stated matter-of-factly, releasing Misty’s chin. He stood and faced the other Rockets again.  
Glare stepped toward Shard, her face mere centimeters from his. Misty now understood how she had gotten her codename . . . that wench could glare! Those blazing green eyes could probably reduce a Charizard to tears. Not only could Glare have been a successful model, but she'd have made one hell of a prison warden as well. Despite the venom spewing from Glare's sight, Shard managed to glower right back at her. He was unflinching.  
Remington cleared his throat, obviously disturbed by something. "Glare?" his tone held caution.  
The blond ground her teeth so loudly that Misty could hear the enamel laboring. Remington placed a hand on Glare's shoulder and eased her toward him. She huffed, but did relinquish her silent argument with Shard.   
Glare turned and exited the room. Remington and N.K. were hastily in tow.  
In this moment the remainder of Misty's energy fizzled away. Her joints felt like soggy noodles and her knees crumpled, head sinking downward toward the floor. Misty's eyes lulled shut, her body plummeting . . . but then, abruptly, she stopped.  
She opened her good eye: Shard had caught her, saving her face from certain collision with the ground.   
The Rocket loomed over her and Misty instantly despised his eye mask. She could not read him at all. The most dangerous predators were those impossible to predict. This made Shard far more threatening than Glare, N.K. or even Remington. At least she could predict Remington's behavior.  
No, Shard was worse.  
Misty had become the Mareep trapped within the Houndoom den and surrounded on all sides. She could not trust any of these Rockets, no matter how civil one might appear.  
Shard WAS worse, Misty decided, he was worse than any savage Houndoom.  
Shard slowly knelt down beside her, his big boots just centimeters from her face. "Miss Waterflower, will you hold still while I remove your handcuffs?" His voice no longer stung like frostbite, rather, the tone was suddenly light, warm, inviting . . .  
Misty cautioned herself: she could not allow herself to relax, not even a little. She HAD to remain alert, remain strong! A Houndoom will often nuzzle a Mareep before crushing its throat.  
Misty nodded weakly, delayed in acknowledging his words.  
Shard reached behind her and detached the cuffs. Misty instantly flexed her tender wrists. She then struggled in vain to rub the blood from her eyes, but only succeeded in smearing it further.  
"I am Elite Rocket Shard.” He introduced. “And I’m responsible for you until this situation is resolved. If you cooperate, I can see to it that you are not harmed again."  
Hopeless emotions ambushed Misty now. Cooperate?! She had been defenseless against Remington. Was she supposed to just sit there and be okay with him assaulting her?! That man could have seriously damaged her — even killed her— had . . .  
. . .had Shard not intervened.   
Misty's own mortality whacked her across the face. It was gruesome. It was raw. It was real. Her courage began collapsing in sync with her heartbreak for Ash — for herself.   
Misty fought against her grief like a true warrior of emotion: her eyelids crushing the tears like shields, her fingers raised like swords to swipe away any escapees. However, the sorrow bombarded her until Misty could no longer beat the tears back. Her face became a grisly battlefield, it looked as though she was crying blood for the tears collected gore as they slid away.   
Shard was ironclad, seemingly unsympathetic to her sudden emotion.  
Somehow, even through tears, Misty resolved to hold her head high. “You should know, Elite Rocket Shard, that Ash won't trade that monster for me. He can't. And when you finally realize that, are you going to kill me?”  
Shard stiffened, just ever-so-slightly. "Ketchum is your fiancé. He will cooperate."  
“And when Ash doesn’t cooperate? Then what?”  
“Then, yes.” The polar storm returned to Shard's voice. All gentleness was gone. "I will have to kill you."


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

'Pokemon Master,  
We have your fiancée, Miss Misty Waterflower. Please study the enclosed photograph. You will see that Miss Waterflower's condition is dire. We will continue to mistreat her until you surrender our Pokemon back to us. The sooner you agree, the better for her wellbeing. We will contact you shortly with details on a time and location for the trade. Take a good hard look at the photo, Pokemon Master. And, while you’re at it, go ahead and call the police. They can't help you. Only you can save your fiancee’s life.  
T.R.'

An emotional earthquake tore throughout Ash Ketchum's body. He shuddered uncontrollably, his legs suddenly like wobbly stilts. His arms trembled as though frostbitten, and even his jaw ached from the vibrations. This terrible quake ripped through Ash until he buckled, kneeling upon his office floor. Ash's hands quivered until he nearly shred the paper within his fingers. It were as though he were physically experiencing a Rage attack.   
Ash’s face burned as a smoldering fury festered within his gut! This anger boiled until he felt that he could actually spit flames. Sweat dribbled down Ash's brow, the perspiration stung his eyes. but he lacked the will to even wipe it away.   
His life had just been wrenched from him.   
A whisper within Ash urged him to curl up and die. But as he reread the paper, Ash knew that he had to stand back up. He had to gather his wits. He had to fight. He had to fight for something far more important than any Pokemon battle: he had to fight for love.  
Misty had only been missing for six hours, but Ash had immediately suspected that Team Rocket was to blame.  
Ash steadied his hand long enough to get a good hard look at the photograph. This photo had accompanied the ransom letter. In the photo Misty was huddled upon a floor, and she looked as though she had been trampled by a crazed herd of Tauros. Misty’s face was splattered with blood, her hair was a mangy knot of gore and her right eye was swollen shut.   
Ash only wished that a crazed Tauros was to blame, at least a Pokemon would not have meant to harm her. But Misty's injuries were not caused accidentally by a Pokemon. They were caused purposely by a fellow human. A Rocket. A Rocket who harmed her simply because Ash loved her.  
A stranger’s hand was on Misty's face, this person was forcing her to look at the camera. An aftershock streaked through Ash's body . . . the emotional quake had not finished with him. The room spun dizzily and Ash felt as though he were caught within a whirlpool and sinking to his death.  
The Rocket bastards had Misty! They were hurting her! How could this have happened? How did they get her? Did they abduct her after she had arrived in Cerulean City? Her sisters never saw her. Or did they do it before? Someplace between the restaurant parking lot and Cerulean? Misty's driver, Old Hal, was also missing. Did they kidnap him too? Or did they dispose of him and hijack the limousine? Ash buried his face in his hands. If they did hijack the limousine then that meant . . .  
. . . I could have saved her.   
Why the hell hadn't he checked the limo before Misty got in? How could he have been so careless? What if Misty did not survive this nightmare? What if the Rockets killed her?  
This is my fault! Ash's thoughts lashed him mercilessly. If she dies it will be my damn fault!  
Ash's office door clicked open. In walked his right hand: Lance the Dragon Master. Pikachu came scurrying in behind Lance. Ash's electric mouse had taken a liking to the Dragon Master, and the two regularly went out for lunch. Lance would share the ketchup from his burgers and Pikachu loved him for it. Lance was currently carrying a bag of take-out food for Ash, but he dropped it when he saw the Pokemon Master shaking upon the floor.  
"Ash!" Lance bolted toward his friend.  
"Pika!" Pikachu ran in frantic circles around his best friend.  
Lance hoisted Ash to his feet and helped him over to the sofa. "What's going on? Are you ill, Ash? I'll call a doctor—"  
"No!" Ash raised a hand, indicating silence. "Look, Lance, LOOK!" Ash stuffed the letter and photo into Lance's hand.  
Lance focused upon the evidence, his expression grave. “No!" He gasped. "Where did you get this letter?"  
Ash sighed woefully. He had already told Lance that Misty never arrived at her family gym. But Lance had convinced him that she probably just got sidetracked. Perhaps she ran into an old friend, went out for a coffee, went window-shopping for wedding dresses, the limo got a flat tire? Ash was desperate to believe these possibilities. He did not want to be a paranoid fiancé, calling Officer Jenny every time Misty was late. Even when Misty did not answer her cellphone, Ash convinced himself that she had just lost service. Nothing was wrong, he tried to tell himself, and Misty would call soon.  
But the photo was like a slamming judge's mallet, confirming a devastating otherwise.  
"A moment ago a Fearow was pecking on my window," Ash began, "I opened it up and the Pokemon dropped this envelope onto the rug. Then it just flew away. It all happened so fast, I should have sent out Noctowl to follow it, but-but I didn't. . . I let it get away." Tears were threatening Ash, and, at this point he did not care if Lance saw him weep. The woman he loved was gone.  
“Okay." Lance took a deep breath, sounding as controlled as always. The Dragon Master was a true pro. If a disaster ever ravaged the land Ash knew that Lance would be calm and focused while everyone around him crumbled. Ash felt very fortunate to have him here now. "We obviously can not give the Rockets what they want, that goes without saying. We WILL find a middle ground. For now, we have got to find a way to stall for time. They're not going to get away with this, Ash. They won't take Misty away from you. Don't worry. We'll rescue her. I promise."  
Ash nodded. He had no idea how his friend could make such a pledge, but coming from Lance, Ash believed it. He had too.  
Ash placed Misty's photo face down on the sofa, he could not stand to look at it again.  
The Dragon Master raked his fingers through his mane of red spikes. "Let me think." Lance stood and began pacing back and forth from one side of Ash's Masters Office to the other. Ash just watched him, his eyes shadowing every movement Lance made. "All right, this is what we are going to do . . .” Lance seemed confident. "I'm calling the Elite Four into a meeting. Can you be ready in ten minutes? I'm also calling Officer Jenny and Professor Elm. The professor happens to be in town, thank Zapdos, because we'll need him. I want all of us to sit down together. I have an idea."  
"Sure, yes, of course.” Ash took Lance's hand in his. "Thank you. I'm too upset to even think straight. I-I'll be in the meeting room in ten, no problem."  
“Good." Lance hustled to the door. "Bring the letter and —" Lance flinched with sympathy. “—and the picture."  
Ash only nodded. Lance left the room and Pikachu was at once upon Ash's lap, snuggling against his cheek. Had it not been for the tears rolling down his face, Ash would have looked like a statue. He was stiff, expressionless, with empty eyes . . . he had not the strength to even stroke Pikachu. Ash just sat there, his miserable thoughts thrashing his mind like a steel whip.  
He absolutely could not - would not- unleash that sinister Pokemon upon the world. Ash would rather die than lose Misty, but he could not allow thousands more to die for Misty.   
Six years ago, before Ash became the Pokemon Master, the world was introduced to Team Rocket’s creation. A Pokemon unlike anything the world had seen before. Team Rocket had spent years creating it within a laboratory. They planned to use it to obtain world domination. To force all world leaders to submit to them. Ash had been eighteen at the time so he remembered this devastating day vividly. The day the Rockets released It. The day the entire city of Goldenrod was destroyed. The day 3,009 people and Pokemon were massacred. The day Professor Oak was murdered.  
Ash trembled, this memory was still raw. He hated recalling details of this day . . . he HATED Team Rocket.   
Ash took a deep breath, forcing his mind to organize the events which occurred then. It was important that he remember the helpless anger which he felt as he watched the events unfold on the television. The blood and the horror, he needed to recall them both to stay strong, to fight them now. He needed to remember what it felt like to lose Professor Oak, for that rage was the only thing which could give him strength now. That rage was something he could cling to.  
When this monster was let loose upon Goldenrod, Officer Jenny's entire police department was defeated. Most of the Jenny's survived, but their Pokemon were obliterated. Johto and Kanto's Special Forces Units were called in and all were annihilated. As Goldenrod burned, the monster set it’s sights upon Olivine City, and everyone knew that the carnage was not going to stop there. The Elite Four became the world’s last hope. Lance was the reigning Master then, and he led the Elite Four in a gruesome battle against it. This Pokemon was a Psychic attack master— and it was going to a take a master to defeat it.   
It was going to take Lance.  
With the Elite Four by his side, Lance waged a battle against the Pokemon for three seemingly endless days. Most of the Elite Four’s Pokemon were killed in the battle. The monster managed to reduce half of Olivine City to rubble. The Elite Four’s Pokemon were simply not strong enough – even Karen, with her dark types, could not gain the upper hand. Team Rocket’s Pokemon was equipped with a wide range of special attacks and defense boosters, it could even use Recover. The monster easily evaded nearly all assaults. It was supernatural, intelligent, and it had a ravenous appetite for blood.   
It was on the third day of chaos that Professor Oak entered the scene. He had created a potion which would temporarily give the bearer (in this case: Lance's Dragonite) ghost-type properties and attacks. It was something the professor had been working on for some time, although no one ever learned quite why. Whatever his motivation, the potion was genius. The professor knew that this was the time to test it out, it might be Johto's last hope. As of then, Lance's Dragonite was the most powerful trained Pokemon on the planet. Therefore there was no Pokemon more befitting to give this potion to.  
Team Rocket’s monster observed the exchange between Lance and the professor. Outraged, it unleashed a fatal Psychic attack upon him. Professor Oak was killed instantly. But his death was not in vain. Blazing with ghost powers, Dragonite was able to finish off what so many other Pokemon had started before him. He took that genetic-disaster down and Lance caught it within a Master Ball.  
Team Rocket was beyond furious. Lance and the Elite Four were physically assaulted by Rockets within moments of the monsters capture. Fortunately, Dragonite had just enough fight left in him to chase the Rockets away. The Rocket organization had clearly spent a fortune engineering this bizarre Pokemon. Even today no one knew what exactly that Pokemon was. It had not once been released from the Master Ball since Lance trapped it six years ago. Physically it was impossible to tell what the monster looked like, because it was dressed in a mechanical, computerized suit of armor. But Ash did recall that it stood upright like a human and had a thick muscular tail and amber eyes. Over the years many scientists had requested to study it, but Lance refused them all. It was not fit to be released or recreated.   
The Dragon Master had the diabolical creature's Pokeball locked away in the highest security facility on the planet. Only the voice recognition, proven DNA, and pass code of the reigning Pokemon Master could unlock the safe where the monster was eternally being detained.  
Team Rocket had launched several attempts to break into the safe, but had never even gotten close. Lance was bribed and his own life was threatened on more than one occasion, but he proved to be unconquerable. During his rein Lance had no wife or family, there was nothing to personally threaten him with. Team Rocket failed and failed over and over for six years to steal that beast back.  
But, when Ash became the new Master last year, Team Rocket saw something: hope. Lance had passed on the grave responsibility to his successor. It was Ash's sworn duty to protect the world from this monster. He could not free it. Not for anything. Not even for Misty. This was a pledge that Ash did not make lightly. And it was a pledge that he intended to keep. He NEEDED to keep it – for all of the thousands of innocents who were slaughtered. So many people . . . so many Pokemon, all who died because of Team Rocket’s greed. He owed it to them all. But most of all . . . Ash owed it to Professor Oak. Not a day went by that Ash did not miss his dear friend. He would never allow the professor’s sacrifice to be wasted.  
NEVER.  
Ash gathered his thoughts in unison with Pikachu into his arms.  
“Let’s go, Pikachu. Lance and the Elite Four are waiting for us. I just know Lance has figured out a brilliant rescue plan. He has to have.”  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
"There, that's much better.” Elite Rocket Shard announced, placing the finishing touches upon Misty's bandage. The blue-haired Rocket had spent the past several minutes securing a dressing around her forehead.   
Since Glare, Remington, and N.K. took their leave, this Rocket had been busy tending to Misty's injuries. Her right eye was swollen, but her full vision had returned to it. Shard had also given her a small meal and some aspirin. Misty consumed everything ravenously. The nourishment helped to alleviate her nausea and dizziness. She would not say that she was ‘grateful’ for Shard's treatment, but she was relieved to have it. Misty’s body had desperately needed medical attention as well as food and drink. Having something tangible in her stomach made her feel a bit better. Well, as good as one could possibly feel after being kidnapped, beaten and held for an impossible ransom.   
Shard took Misty by the shoulders and carefully pulled her to her feet. The muscles in her legs felt like mere damp paper, there was barely any strength within them. She could hardly hold herself up. Shard took notice of this and kept his grip upon her shoulders to steady her. He led her slowly toward the rooms exit.  
"Where are we going?" Misty hardly recognized her voice as her own, it was hoarse from the days many screams. Despite its croaky sound her voice held demand. Misty knew that commanding answers from a Rocket was risky, but at this point she did not care. She had been inside this godforsaken-box-of-a-room since arriving at the Rocket's base, so why would Shard be taking her anyplace else? Going elsewhere made her feel uneasy. She could only imagine the types of torture chambers these lunatics harbored within their base.   
Shard busied himself with punching in a key code to open the door. He did not turn and look at her. "To your room of course, Miss Waterflower. If that pleases you?” He answered, truly sounding like the world’s politest person ever.  
Misty scoffed inwardly at his thoughtful words, Shard was a Rocket, a killer. But, she supposed that even a killer could be courteous from time-to-time . . . or a really good actor. If his kindness was indeed sincere, it struck her as very odd. Rockets were infamous for treating their captives like diseased Aipom’s; they did not tend to their wounds or help them walk and especially did not speak with genteel tongues. So far, Shard seemed to be a very out-of-character Rocket. And that meant Misty needed to keep her guard up even more when around him.  
"Your room is not far and it's quite comfortable, Miss Waterflower.” Shard added, noticing her hesitancy.   
“My room? Do I look stupid to you? How do I know you aren’t taking me to a dungeon to electrocute me, or gas me or cut out my tongue?!” Misty was too physically depleted to stomp her foot or shove him, but, she crammed as much ferocity into her half-swollen stare as possible! Ash or Brock would have burst into tears had Misty ever burned them with such a stare-down, but Shard did not react in the slightest.   
“Do you really want to stay in here, Miss Waterflower? A freezing cold, claustrophobically small room without so much as a toilet?”  
"Of course not! But I don’t want my tongue to be cut out either!”  
A nearly-microscopic-hint-of-a-smirk seemed to tug at Shard’s lips. “There will be no cutting off of your tongue, I can assure you, Miss Waterflower.” He turned back to the keypad to finish entering the door code but, stiffened and faced her again. That near-microscopic-hint-of-a-smirk gave way to a large-unabashed-grin-of-amusement. “But only because I imagine that the ‘tongueless-sounds’ you’d make would be far more irritating than your incessant inquisition.” The grin died on Shard's lips before Misty could even react to it. Had she been physically able to, she would have been its executioner via slapping it clear off his mouth! Shard’s mirth was now replaced by his previous matter-of-fact Rocket facade. He continued as though no inappropriate jest had ever been made: “I’ve arranged for more comfortable quarters for you to stay, Miss Waterflower, until the switch is made. You'll have your own private bathroom with a shower. You will also have a bed and suitable clean clothes provided.” Shard cocked his head. “That little frock you have on is hardly appropriate."  
“Ohhh, I’m sorry that I didn’t dress appropriately for my kidnapping today. I guess I missed the dress code memo. And you can forget it! I don’t wanna change my clothes here! I refuse to let you creeps watch me undress!”  
Shard failed to stifle an amused grunt, and Misty's face only burned. "I just mean," he went on, "it's very cold in here, Miss Waterflower. Warmer attire is far more appropriate for the duration of your stay. As you are presently our guest for an undetermined about of time. And, no worries, no one will be observing you in a state of undress.”  
Misty huffed, forcing herself not to react to the barefaced entertainment the Rocket was receiving from her frustration. She wanted to kick him in the groin! She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs! She wanted to demand that he take off that stupid mask and be faced with the torment she was enduring! But instead Misty did something very un-Misty-like . . .   
She lowered her gaze to the floor. Verbally volleying with him was only enraging her and burning up her sparse energy reserves. Misty did not trust Shard but, unfortunately she had no freewill in this situation. While the Rocket was humoring her (justified) outbursts, she knew there was little chance of him actually giving a damn what she wanted. With a sigh, Misty admitted to herself that a more comfortable space would be a preferred prison . . . she did despise this cold little box room. But she would not admit this to Shard.  
”Miss Waterflower?” Shard’s cordial voice drew her attention just as the door hissed open. "I apologize for this, but I’m going to have to blindfold you until we arrive at your new room. It's protocol."  
Misty braced herself, but said nothing as Shard tied dark fabric around her head. Unlike Remington who roughly forced the blindfold over her eyes, Shard was gentle. His fingers carefully brushed her hair to the side and he made sure that not one strand became entangled within the knot. Shard then lay his hand upon her shoulder again. Misty reprimanded her chilled skin for relishing how warm his gloved fingers were.   
Shard guided her down a winding corridor. Despite receiving medical attention Misty was feeling weaker by the moment. She felt as though she were walking through wet cement. To make this journey worse, Misty’s sense of balance was thrown completely askew by the darkness. Twice she stumbled and Shard caught her each time, not pressing onward until she was steady again. Reflexively, Misty almost thanked him, but then stopped herself. Shard was not worthy of any gratitude. It was HIS fault that her life may soon be over. His civility would come to a screeching halt once Team Rocket realized that Ash was not going to comply. Perhaps Shard would raise that big gun of his and slaughter her himself? No way would she spare even a polite word for him or for any of them! Misty Waterflower would go down with pride.  
After rounding a final corner Shard halted. Misty heard the swish of an opening door and then he led her forward. Her blindfold was removed at once. Although Misty had only been blindfolded for a few minuets, her eyes ached while adjusting to the light.   
Misty scanned her new prison: it was undeniably much nicer than the last one. The room was several times larger. There was a twin-sized bed dressed in a plush turquoise comforter and it even had a matching pillow. Next to the bed was a nightstand with a small lamp and a bottle of water. On the far wall was another door, Misty guessed it led to the bathroom. In one corner there was also a portable water cooler, conveniently to re-fill the bottle by the bed. The only other piece of furniture was a cupboard. Misty guessed that warmer clothing and towels may be inside.  
Misty wanted to head straight for the bathroom, the dried blood in her hair needed to get scrubbed out. Strands of her hair were adhering to the scabbing wound and it was itchier than a Spinarak bite.   
Misty took a step forward and wooziness ambushed her. Fortunately Shard had reflexes like a Hitmonchan, he caught her arm before the floor did.   
“You will sit down.” He ordered flatly. Misty nodded weakly, allowing him to lead her to the bed. Her backside surrendered into the soft comforter, allowing the warmth to embrace her like a hug. Such a simple familiar comfort suddenly meant more to Misty than she could even comprehend.   
Shard reached beneath the bed and withdrew a medical kit. Misty watched as he opened the box and removed a small sort of flashlight. "Sit still.” Shard instructed, shinning the light into one of her eyes and then the other. He seemed to be meticulously studying her pupils. Next Shard took out a stethoscope and blood pressure aneroid. He attached the blood pressure cuff to her forearm and also listened to her heartbeat. Misty shifted uncomfortably, but complied. She felt as though she were being examined by a qualified medical doctor not a murdering Rocket.  
Shard was thorough in his examination of her vitals. He spent a good ten minutes looking in her ears, listening to her lungs, tapping on her knees, and even asking her to take deep breaths. All the while he continually asked her if she ‘was okay’, if he ‘was being gentle enough’, if ‘anything hurt’. He had exceptional bedside manner . . . Misty clenched her jaw, aggravated beyond words! She wanted Shard to can this ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ performance and just be the maniac she knew he must truly be! Again Misty harnessed her temper and settled for a confused frown. How did some stupid Rocket know any of this medical stuff anyway? So far her experiences with Rockets (throughout her entire life) had only proven them all to be uneducated losers. Jessie and James were incapable of spelling their names, and the thought of them assessing vitals signs was inconceivable. But then again, Shard had introduced himself and an Elite Rocket. Misty didn't know what the Elite part meant, but she assumed his higher ranking was due to his more advanced skillset.   
Finally Shard seemed satisfied with his examination and put his medical equipment away. "You don't appear to have a concussion, Miss Waterflower. Overall you are very healthy. Most likely your dizziness is due to dehydration and stress."  
Misty's jaw popped! That was it! The time limit for her temper was UP! "Imagine that! Me? Stressed?! After being abducted and assaulted?! How shocking!” She spat the words like sewage.  
Shard raised his brow but said nothing. He grabbed the water bottle from the nightstand and handed it to her. "Drink this. I'm going to get you some soup. Have you a flavor preference?"  
Misty gaped at him, was this Rocket really taking a food order for her? "I lost my appetite.” She seethed.  
"Very well, I’ll just choose a recipe for you.” Shard stood up to his full height, clearly unfazed by her curtness. "Would you care to read a magazine? The new issue of Water Pokemon was just released. I daresay, given your field of expertise, you’ll enjoy this read.”  
Was Shard actually attempting to engage her in conversation about Pokemon? Misty refused to grant him the dignity of a response. Misty held her head high, blatantly ignoring him.  
Shard only continued: “It features a top notch research paper about the pre-evolution of Seel."  
Pre-evolution-of-wha-wha-wha-WHAT?!   
Misty fought to retain a disinterested facade, but the man progressed still: “This is a major evolutionary development. But I don’t have to explain that to you. Had your engagement news not dominated social media, this would have been a massive headline today. A Seel was located off of the Seafoam islands without a horn. The deoxyribonucleic acid is not consistent with Seel, though the variation of inherited physical and behavioral characteristics is remarkably similar.”  
WHAT?! That can't be true. Misty pressed her lips together like magnets, it was all she could do to refrain from verbally vomiting all over him! I am a Water Pokemon EXPERT! If something this major had been discovered, I would have been the first to hear about it! Certainly before a Rocket! There is NO pre-evolved form of Seel. I mean, today has been pure hell, though . . . could I have really missed an announcement of this magnitude? No! NO WAY! He’s messing with me for some screwed-up reason. He has to be.  
Shard smirked that unbearably-annoying-smirk again. He was clearly enticed that Misty was suffocating the urge to berate him.   
The knowledge that she wasn’t sold on the information he presented only seemed to egg him onward: "The genome mapping is fascinating. This Pokemon had the potential to perform a Cotton Spore attack. It’s part Grass-type. More interesting still, the Pokemon carries antibodies make it immune to fire-damage. It’s also far smaller than a normal Seel and repeats the word 'Sweel'. 'Sweel' as in with a ‘W'. Pretty cool, right?”  
Misty could endure it no longer! Her temper now rivaled a Cinnabar volcano and she erupted! Actually bolting upward, upon her tippy-toes so that she could stare Shard right in the face (no, he was far too tall, but his chest should have been very afraid!). “What the hell?! I didn't hear anything about this! That would be huge news! HUGE! And I am NOT an idiot, I understand that 'Sweel' would have a dammed 'W'!" Misty barely resisted kicking him in the knee!   
She HATED it here! She wanted to go home! She wanted to be in Ash's arms! Instead she was stuck in this terrible Rocket base! She had suffered physical harm! And was now pestered by some Know-It-All-Blue-Haired-Pretty-Boy-Brainiac-Rocket trying to debate her – the expert of this field – on Seels! It was horrendous!   
Shard considered her voluminous outburst. He tilted his head like a curious Growlithe pup, thoughtfully tapping a finger to his chin. “Apologies, Miss Waterflower. I can only surmise that hearing about the Sweel from me must be quite a surprise for you.” Misty had never heard chivalrousness and sarcasm so masterfully blended before.  
If Misty were an Arbok she would have spewed Acid all over him! How disgustingly haughty he was! What the hell was wrong with him? Shard not only knew how to treat head injuries, but he read Water Pokemon as well? Water Pokemon was a scientific journal. The scientific jargon alone made it impossible for the average person to comprehend. Ash could never get through a single sentence without complaining of a migraine. It was a journal written by professors for professors. The only reason Misty attempted to read it was because her business was mastering Water Pokemon. At times even she struggled to understand the texts!   
For the love of Moltres, Articuno and Zapdos! CRURSE HIM!   
But the son-of-a-Granbull had her. Misty needed to know the truth.  
"Bring me that magazine.” She snarled, surprising herself by just how much she now sounded like a Granbull.   
Misty would not lower herself to debate with this Rocket anymore. Communicating with him —like he was a normal person— was beyond the realm of ludicrous. Misty would read the journal and then judge for HERSELF on whether or not a Sweel was a real Pokemon. Not that it really mattered anymore, of course. Misty had far graver problems at the present time, but reading about this topic might be a tolerable way of passing time until the Rockets decided to what to do with her.  
"Okay then.” Shard seemed pleased that Misty had finally shown interest in his magazine. He headed toward the door, but stopped and faced her. "By the way, congratulations on your engagement, Miss Waterflower. Per our discussion earlier, I don’t want to kill you. Ketchum will make the trade, you'll see. He’ll be reasonable. Certainly he values his fiancée over a Pokemon."   
"You don't even know Ash! How dare you make that assumption? How— " Misty's retort was interrupted as the door unexpectedly opened, revealing a grinning Glare.   
The blond marched into the room as if it were her own chambers.  
“What do you want?" Shard asked, his tone alluding that he did not actually care for the answer.  
Glare strolled past Shard, twirling her hair and humming a tune — as though he were unworthy of her full attention.   
“I asked you a question.” The pressure in Shard's tone would crush an Onix.   
Glare halted and complied, facing him. “The ‘photo bomb’ was dropped. Fearow 33 took it straight to the Indigo Plateau."  
Misty's heart sank like a Golem in the sea. Glare's report confirmed her deepest fear: Ash now knew what was going on. He would be an emotional train wreck.  
"Good. Anything else?" Shard folded his arms across his chest, he wanted to drive the point home that Glare dulled him.  
“Yeahhhhh." Glare cracked a wicked grin. "The Boss wants us to take pictures every few hours. Bloody, gory, nasty ones. You know, to keep Ketchum riled up."  
Shard's expression went ridged. His fingers frisked anxiously through his azure spikes of hair. "That's absurd. I’m going to deal with this immediately." Shard faced Misty. "I'll be back. Glare wont harm you, don't worry. She wouldn't dare." Shard pushed past Glare, his body language sending an unspoken threat to the blond. He quickly disappeared down the hall.   
Misty's heartbeat escalated. Sweat began forming on her neck, her brow, even her palms were damp. If Shard failed to persuade his boss, then she was going to be beaten again after all. Right now Misty had no choice but to put her faith in Elite Rocket Shard. If he was willing to stand up for her, then Misty would gladly let him.  
Misty glanced toward the female Rocket. It was just her and Glare now.  
Glare did what she did best and eyed Misty with her executioners stare. Misty debated: should she hurl a nasty look back at the bitch or avoid confrontation? Assessing that Glare packed a firearm and Misty only a bruised arm, she decided it best to simply ignore her. Instead Misty peered down at her own feet, she was still wearing her high heel shoes from dinner with Ash. She really wished that Glare would leave so that she could raid that cupboard and see what warmer attire Shard had provided for her. Her toes were freezing and she hoped to find some socks or slippers.  
Glare cleared her throat obnoxiously loud. "You know . . .” She began smugly. Misty did not look up, she did not want to grant this wench any of her attention. Glare was not deterred and continued: “The Boss may have placed Shard in charge of this particular operation, but, I actually out-rank him in Rocket hierarchy. Did you know that?" Glare didn't pause long enough to let Misty answer, she just continued rambling. "I didn't think so. Basically, what I am trying to say, Miss Waterflower, is that you should not get use to any kindness while you’re here. Trust me, it's temporary. Charming Mr. Shard will not be around much longer to look out for you."  
Misty glanced up now. "What do you mean?"  
Glare giggled mockingly. "Oh, nothin’ much.” She twirled her hair casually about her finger again. "Forget I said anything, okay?" She batted her eyelashes with grossly exaggerated innocence.  
Misty looked away again. This bitch was really getting on her nerves, but Misty reminded herself that she was probably just a liar and trying to scare her. Not that it mattered since Misty faced death anyway. But still . . .  
Misty paused. She had to admit that Glare's words were . . . troubling, at the very most. Thus far Shard had been the only Rocket to show her any compassion or sympathy what-so-ever. If something happened to him, Misty had no doubt that she would be tortured. It wasn't that she gave a damn about Shard's well-being, it was that his well-being had unfortunately become tied to her own.  
Glare is lying, Misty insisted to herself. She’s trying to scare you, to break you. She's attacking your emotions because she is too afraid of Shard to attack you physically. Ignore her. She's nothing but bitchy Rocket trash. Misty nodded to herself, her inner pep-talk had boosted her moral somewhat.  
Glare's cellphone began to jingle in her pocket and the Rocket was quick to answer it. "Hey, Remi. What's going on?"  
Misty shivered involuntarily, she assumed that 'Remi' was short for 'Remington'. That man actually frightened her.  
Glare laughed impishly in response to whatever Remington was saying to her. "Okay, you know I'll be there. I can't wait, baby. Later." Glare put her cellphone away, completely unconcerned that Misty had just eavesdropped on her conversation. It was now obvious that Glare and Remington had more than just a simple co-worker relationship.  
Glare sauntered toward her, but Misty continued to disregard her. "You see," the blond exclaimed excitedly. "Very soon either Remington or myself will be leading Team Rocket. There is no way that nerdy stud muffin is going to threaten what should be one of ours. The only reason Shard has even made it this far in the company is because he constantly sucks up to the Boss." Glare proceeded to walk around the room, taking casual interest in examining the furniture.  
Misty sat still. She did not want to make any movements which would give Glare the excuse to berate her. Furthermore, Misty did not want to encourage Glare to continue her current line of speech. Misty had no idea why Glare was even telling her this information in regard to Shard. Clearly Glare had it in for Shard and wanted him gone. Did she actually expect Misty to share her opinion? Quite frankly, Misty didn't even give a Rattata's ass about the future of Team Rocket – unless, of course, it was finally going to be destroyed.  
After a few tense moments Glare made her way toward the exit. "Well, I'm off. I'd say 'nice chatting with you', but you were rather lax at adding to the conversation. Remind me never to invite you to a party, okay?" With another wry giggle, Glare strut out of the room.  
Misty released a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding. Now she was left alone with her thoughts. And her thoughts warned her that she'd inadvertently been sucked into an even more complex disaster. Her kidnapping was not the only crime being plotted here. There was an obvious power-struggle surging within Team Rocket. Misty had unwillingly become a pawn in the Pokemon ransom demand. And now she found herself an involuntarily pawn in Glare’s and Shard's internal strife.  
Misty's buried her face in her hands. An ominous instinct lurked inside her mind, this instinct clawed at her brain until she was forced to acknowledge it.  
The instinct told Misty that her blood would not be spilling alone.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

If the Boss of Team Rocket stood beside you in a coffee shop you would never suspect it. He did not seem dangerous at all. There was nothing even slightly suspicious in his appearance. Nothing to indicate that he possessed even a rebellious streak. Not one tattoo decorated his skin, no crazy hair, nor one piercing. Team Rocket’s boss did not carry a gun or even a small knife upon his person. Rather, he gave the impression of a sophisticated business man. He was handsome, clean cut and always sported the latest pricey dress suit. Although his name was known by all Rockets he was addressed only as ‘The Boss’. His true name was forbidden to be spoken out loud. Any Rocket caught even whispering his name risked execution on the spot. This was the number one rule, for you see, the leader of Team Rocket was also a famous Pokemon Gym Leader. He was a man respected by all — both inside and outside of his criminal organization. Even the Pokemon Master himself was an unsuspecting acquaintance to this man.   
Team Rockets boss was none other than the renowned Giovanni of the Viridian City Gym. And Giovanni was truly a master at living a double life.  
Giovanni was now a man of fifty five years. His once brown hair had nearly all gone gray, however, the Fates had been kind to Giovanni. His face and build were those of a man many years younger. Unfortunately, he also had the heart of a man many, many years older . . . but this was a medical fact few knew about, and that he did not choose to dwell upon.  
Throughout his years Giovanni had acquired rather expensive taste in all things. Every single room, corridor, computer lab, and training arena within the Team Rocket base was state-of-the-art. Everything – no matter a waste bin or biochemistry equipment – was brand new. Giovanni only surrounded himself with the best. Only the finest quality would do. He had steered Team Rocket successfully enough that money was never an issue.   
The Rocket staff numbered in the thousands. They were divided into secret locations all over the world. Rockets could be skilled thieves or ironclad defenders. Rockets could be masterful Pokemon trainers, some capable of catching and training exceptionally rare beasts. Rockets could be killers, trained in hand-to-hand combat — experts on modern firearms and classic weaponry - talented in the very art of assassination. Some were even strategic thinkers . . .using their brilliant minds to outwit opposition or work as scientists in his genetic research laboratories. And, in a few exceptionally rare instances, a Rocket was composed of a multitude of these qualities.   
These very few select Rockets numbered only four. These were known as the Elites – Giovanni's personal Elite Four. Glare. Shard. Remington. N.K. HIS best of the best, capable of bringing down those the Pokemon Master valued so high. And these Elite Rockets were the only ones regularly allowed into one very special room of Team Rocket’s base. A room far larger and far finer than any other in the facility: his office.   
Giovanni's office was the size of a Pokemon Center and probably contained more Pokeballs. You would not find one Weedle in his personal collection, but, you would find powerful Alakazams, Mightyenas and Gengars. There was an awe-inspiring Lapras, an undefeated Tyranitar and several supernatural Dragonites and Regirocks. He even had a Porygon and a genetically-recreated Aerodactyl (to name a few of his favorites).   
The office walls were decorated with elaborate paintings. These paintings were of his most prized Pokemon. One frame housed an acrylic rendition of Giovanni's preferred Golem. Another painting displayed Giovanni's beloved Persian. However, the grandest painting of them all hung next to his desk, and it was truly a life-sized work of art! This painting was of a different feline . . . a huge lavender one . . .  
The Pokemon.  
The Pokemon only Master Ketchum had access to.  
The Pokemon that Team Rocket Boss Giovanni wanted returned to him. Needed. Badly.   
This Pokemon was genetically engineered over years and years of time — his creation cost Team Rocket millions of dollars. He was created fifteen years ago via residual DNA from the ancient Pokemon Mew. Hence, being a man who liked things to the point, Giovanni named the Pokemon MewTwo. But unlike the original Mew, MewTwo was a superiorly enhanced clone. Briefly after MewTwo's creation, he escaped Giovanni's control. Numerous times Giovanni and his Rockets managed to track MewTwo down, but were never fully successful in apprehending him. Not until six years ago when Giovanni finally discovered MewTwo hiding at Mount Quena.   
After a furious battle MewTwo was captured and — again — under his control. This was when Giovanni ordered MewTwo to destroy Johto, starting with Goldenrod City. This attack was supposed to convey a message to the world: Team Rocket’s power could not be matched. But instead of an easy victory, that blasted Dragon Master managed to CATCH Giovanni's creation.  
The horror! The shame! The outrage!  
Giovanni considered only two living beings within the category of 'His Pride & Joy’. Only two beings could be included upon his list of 'What Matters Most’.   
MewTwo was one of them.  
Even now — with Shard, Glare and Remington in his office, circling one another like Murkrows – did Giovanni struggle to peel his attention from this painting and back onto his Rockets.  
"So you agree with me right, Boss?" Glare pressed, she tapped her fingernails impatiently upon his desk. She was trying to hide her irritation, only, her body posture read 'PUSHY' like a flashing neon sign.   
Giovanni considered her thoughtfully . . . Glare was a brilliant thinker and an even more brilliant Pokemon handler. She could hunt down and capture almost any Pokemon he asked her for. It was she who single-handedly stole him Porygon from the Silph Co. Although Glare did not excel in formal schooling, she was loaded with street-smarts and could talk dizzying circles around anyone who dared to debate her. She had the potential to lead Team Rocket and make it even more feared than it was now. Glare had been with the company for six years and was fiercely loyal. She was beautiful and deadly, a combination that embodied the ideal Rocket. Despite her attributes, Glare possessed some major downfalls: she was constantly on edge, easily bored, and highly rash in her judgments. Her impulsive streak concerned Giovanni. Rockets needed to be like the Persian: intelligent, deadly —and above all else — patient. When Glare wanted something she wanted it immediately, and she seemed incapable of understanding why fortitude and calm perseverance were key.  
"Boss?" The edge in her tone became sharper.  
Remington stood next to Glare, his anxious posture mimicking hers. Shard exhaled loudly in protest.  
“Yes." The Boss said flatly, stroking the Persian upon his lap. "I agree. We need more photo evidence."  
"But, Sir, you placed me in charge of Miss Waterflower. You placed me at the front of this entire mission. I think my judgment should be entrusted in this decision. I doubt that Ketchum has even had ample opportunity to mentally digest the first photograph. Two is overkill, we'll seem desperate.” Shard spoke calmly and respectfully, but his offense was evident.  
"We ARE desperate!” Remington yowled like a frantic Houndour, earning a hiss from Persian. The older Rocket eyed Shard as though he were a rotten Poke'egg.   
Shard clenched his jaw, barely refraining from verbally ripping Remigton a new asshole — something the blue-haired Rocket did often and expertly (and it was quite entertaining to Giovanni, though he would never admit it out loud).   
Giovanni examined his Rockets.   
Glare was his Number One, but Shard was second followed closely by Remington. These two men were also capable of leading Team Rocket. He could envision them both launching the Rockets to new heights of success.   
Remington was nearly ten years older than both Glare and Shard, and had been with Team Rocket since he was but a child. Remington was a weapons expert. He could both take and dole out harsh orders without hesitation. His specialty was tracking Dark and Ghost types of Pokemon, and, he could wield his Pokemon with unmatched vigor. Had Remington not joined Team Rocket, Giovanni did not doubt that he could have become a member of the Plateau’s Elite Four.   
But, like Glare, Remington also had serious flaws: he lacked compassion. He lacked tact. He lacked dignity. And, above all, his tongue was brash. He trained his Pokemon harshly, using fear and punishment to drive them. He was also highly undiplomatic. Giovanni regularly spent hours at a time lecturing him on thinking prior to speaking.  
Remington's faults were unfortunate, Team Rockets next leader had to be capable of discretion. Giovanni often dealt with world leaders in cases of kidnappings, murders, theft and so on. He feared that Remington would be unable to fill his shoes – unable to use subtle words to instill fear in others. Often it was Giovanni's stinging charm that would crumble the intellect of his challengers. Remington's intellect was simply not up to par with Giovanni's – not that Giovanni considered any to match him, though.   
Remington was not to blame for these faults, joining Team Rocket at such a young age did not allow him more than a formal fifth grade education. Because of this, Remington understood little of the complexity that went into Team Rockets main money maker: Pokemon genetic manipulation. Remington would be unable to communicate with the many scientists they employed. Giovanni was concerned that Remington would bark unrealistic orders and then murder those scientists unable to deliver the impossible results.  
Giovanni frowned, turning his attention upon the blue-haired Rocket before him. "Shard," he began cordially, "I do trust you. You are an excellent Rocket. One of my very best, however, new information has just reached me. Once I share it with you, I am certain that you will agree that more evidence of Miss Waterflower's dire state must be sent."  
Glare, Shard, and Remington shuffled closer to his desk. They were like a trio of curious Noctowls – eyes wide and blinking (well, except Shard, but Giovanni assumed he was wide-eyed beneath his mask). Giovanni couldn't help but crack a smirk – they clung to his words like burdocks on Pokemon fur.  
Giovanni fixed his concentration upon Shard. The young man was nearly perfect, just as Giovanni had molded him to be.   
Shard was undeniably impressive physically. Giovanni preferred his Rockets to be young, fit, strong and attractive. The world would never fear a group of over-weight, ugly, old thieves. But eye-appeal was only a minimal requirement. What Giovanni admired most about Shard was his mind. Shard was a tactical mastermind, wielding all Pokemon types effortlessly. His very brain was like a Pokedex. Although Shard had not officially completed a doctorate program, he was loaded with scientific knowledge superior to most professors twice his age. In his youth Shard had attended a notable grammar school. Once among the Rocket ranks he was disciplined enough, and ambitious enough, to spend his free-time self-studying and volunteering to assist in the numerous Team Rocket laboratories.   
Shard had a tongue like jagged ice and mind far colder and sharper — he was not easily ruffled. He was able to remain composed and detached under even the gravest of circumstances. Shard was well-spoken, well-mannered and charming. He was also unbelievably quick-witted, Giovanni had to pay extra attention when in Shard's presence or risk missing a clever insult (usually directed at Remington), which the others rarely seemed to comprehend.   
Shard was an expert marksman, and Giovanni often used this ability to assassinate foes. Shard could kill without remorse one second and then mend the wounds of a teammate the next. He genuinely loved and respected Pokemon —all Pokemon— even pathetic ones like the Caterpie. He didn’t see the creatures merely as tools to make him stronger, but wanted to nurture them so they could become a strong team together. Team Rocket’s Pokemon responded to Shard with admiration, affection and appreciation. Heck, even his fussy old Persian liked the kid.   
Shard had everything— WAS everything— he was THE ideal Rocket. . .  
. . . except . . .  
Giovanni was concerned about Shard for one reason.   
Shard's talents and bold personality made him a danger to himself. Shard's skills were blatantly advanced beyond the other Rockets. They all knew it and they were all jealous.   
And Shard knew it as well.   
Shard’s hubris — his fatal flaw — was his ego.   
Perhaps if Shard were even a tad modest then the others would not detest him so . . . but Elite Rocket Shard was anything but modest. He wore his confidence on his sleeve like diamond cufflinks. And Giovanni knew that diamonds never lasted long in the company of thieves. Shard was a walking Tauros'-eye within these Rocket walls.  
Additionally Giovanni knew that the personal issues between Shard and Glare were only escalating problems.   
Alas, Giovanni did not have the luxury of time to dwell upon these problems right now. Therefore, he banned them and collected his words back on the discussion at hand: “Shard, the reason that we need more evidence of Miss Waterflower's anguish is because: The Pokemon Master made a public plea via all major television networks today. Ketchum requested that we release his fiancée, and then he offered us a ransom of one million dollars. There was no mention of my Pokemon."  
"Insult!" Glare slammed her fists against his desk, her green eyes blazing. "Ketchum knows we don't want the cash. He is stalling for time. He's up to something, Boss. I bet he's got that damn Dragon Master engineering something while he attempts to stall us."  
Giovanni nodded. "Yes, Glare, you are as intuitive, as always. You are exactly correct. This million dollar offer is naught but a ploy to stall us. I suspect Lance is conjuring some sort of pathetic rescue attempt." Giovanni faced Shard now. "So you see, Shard, we need to send a much graver message. We'll not be insulted by offers of mere cash."  
Glare was nodding along with everything that Giovanni was saying. "Boss, let me handle this. This situation is getting you all worked up. You are finally retiring this year, and with your heart condition . . . oh, Boss, this stress is not good for you.” Glare walked around the desk and began massaging Giovanni’s shoulders, which he decided to allow despite his Persian’s growling. “I can't bear to see you so concerned, Boss. Shard is outta his league here, let me handle this! I want to prove to you, once and for all, that I am the best candidate to lead Team Rocket."  
Shard grunted mockingly. "Don't insult the Boss with your phony concern and shitty massages. He's not some frail little Oddish."  
Remington shoved Shard backward and raised his fists. "Say that again, Pretty-Boy! I dare you!"  
"Enough!" Giovanni rose now, knocking Glare’s hands away. Persian leapt upon the desk to spit at all three of them. Glare, Shard and Remington instantly stood at attention. "You three are my very best Rockets. But your inability to cooperate disturbs me. We are a TEAM! I did not call this organization simply The Rockets. All three of you are more than qualified to run the organization after my retirement. I will announce my chosen successor soon enough. BE PATIENT! In the meantime you need to concentrate solely on the task at hand, not on this petty squabbling.” Giovanni ran his fingers through his hair and calmly retook his seat. “Each one of you has an important task to carry out now. And I assure you that I will not retire until my Pokemon is back with me. If that takes twenty more years, then damnit, I'll stay here twenty more years. But, quite frankly, I am ready to take my Pokemon and retire. Therefore, I order more pictures to be sent Ketchum's way today. . ." Giovanni hesitated, reconsidering his words. "No, better yet, take a short video. Smack Miss Waterflower around, make sure she screams."  
"With all due respect, Sir," Shard could also be quite stubborn, but Giovanni could not fault him for this as he too embodied the trait. "This is arbitrary. It’s unnecessarily brutal toward a hostage that has been very cooperative. I suggest we fake it. I ask Miss Waterflower to fake scream. I'm certain she can act the part—“  
“Since when are you merciful?!” Glare spat. “Your victims could fill a graveyard!”  
Remington laughed loudly through his words: “Since the hostage is smokin’ hot.”  
Shard simply shook his head, presenting Remington with his middle finger. Remington’s tone and posture were twinning with provocation: “I kinda liked handcuffin’ Waterflower in the back of that limo. The bitch put up a good struggle, too. The cuffed and blindfolded kinky-look works for her.”  
Glare rolled her eyes, and Shard now bestowed upon them all that he, in fact, had two middle fingers. Shard’s posture was nonchalant, but Giovanni knew his prized Rocket . . . he could tell that nature of Remington’s taunts did bother him . . . well, that was unexpected, out-of-character and entirely noteworthy. And — fortunately for Shard— it went undetected by the other two Rockets.   
"No, Shard.” Giovanni’s voice command them from their juvenile bickering. “A dramatization will not be convincing enough. It needs to be real. We will not be hitting Miss Waterflower in any vital organs, and if we do I have no doubt that you can mend her. And if not you, then that is why I employ and entire ward full of physicians."  
“But, Sir—!”  
"Shard, if you cannot handle this task then I shall assign Miss Waterflower's charge to Remington."  
Shard inhaled sharply. "That won't be necessary, Sir. I'll make sure that the video is shot and sent to Ketchum."  
"Good. Let it be done now."  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Shard, Remington and Glare stood outside of Miss Waterflower's chamber.  
Glare's hands were occupied with a small digital camcorder and her feet were preoccupied with thumping the floor. She pounded her boots against the ground as though the thudding-sounds would magically spur her teammates to move faster.   
Remington took note of her impatience and began punching a code into the doors keypad, only, Shard raised a hand to stop him.   
Glare thumped her boots louder.  
“I'm going to take care of Miss Waterflower.” Shard stated, blocking the doorway.  
Remington laughed, rolling his eyes as though Shard had just proclaimed that he was part Dragonair. "What? You? I'll believe that when I see it."  
"I am in charge. I'll take care of her. Glare, just keep the camera on. The video will be no longer than a minute. We don't want to overdue it. We’re not out to seriously harm Miss Waterflower, just to make our point."  
Glare was practically stomping in place now.  
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The blanket felt like Flareon fur –- soft and warm. Misty pressed her face into the fabric, she could feel her chilled cheeks unthawing. She was exhausted, she barely had the energy to pull the blanket over her body.   
Misty knew that she had to sleep, but the thought of actually napping here caused insta-insomnia.   
If she allowed herself to lose consciousness, would she ever wake up again? What if the Rockets decided to kill her in her sleep?   
As her eyelids lulled shut, Misty realized that it was a risk that she was going to have to take. She had been awake now for a very long time. She was clueless as to precisely how long, but her body was pleading for a moments rest.   
After Glare left, Misty had finally indulged in a hot shower and changed out of her summer dress. Shard had provided her with several clothing choices. Misty had settled upon a mint-green turtleneck sweater and some grey leggings. Surprisingly, these clothes fit her perfectly. Her toes were also enjoying the warmth of a pair of socks.  
Misty buried her face beneath the fluffy pillow, the turquoise shade was rather soothing . . . Misty allowed her eyes to finally shut. . .  
Her solace was fleeting.  
Without warning the metal door slid open. The door emitted a series of panicked electronic beeps – they were like a dozen deafening alarm clocks. Misty was jolted to full alert!   
She did not want to look out from under the pillow. It was possible that only Shard stood there, perhaps hot soup and the Water Pokemon Monthly magazine in hand. But it was also possible that Remington or Glare was there and ready to harass and harm her.  
Dread chewed at Misty's insides. Anxiety gnawed at her brain. Her heart was pounding, lungs aching with apprehension . . .   
Gathering her courage, Misty pushed the pillow aside and peered at the doorway. . .  
She saw Remington, Glare and Shard.  
Why were all three of them here?  
Remington and Glare were smirking at her. Their cruel lips seemed to mock Misty for daring a moment of comfort. Shard seemed . . . tense. Misty noticed that he did not have any soup or magazines with him. But she did notice that Glare held a camcorder . . .  
Oh no! Misty bolted upright in bed. What are they going to do to me?  
Misty looked to Shard, her eyes were wild with disarray and demand! She wanted to know what the hell was going on!   
Shard was expressionless, and Misty immediately cursed herself for being so stupid. Stupid enough to believe that Elite Rocket Shard might actually be willing to stand up for her. Misty hoped that he could see the terror in her eyes, the raw disgust aimed at him! And Misty also wished that she could see any trace of remorse in his . . . only, of course she could not. All Misty could see was that loathsome mask. But if Shard wanted to hide behind it, then fine. The coward!  
Misty kicked the blankets aside and stood up. She still felt weak, but at least she was no longer handcuffed. She would not go down without a fight!  
Glare leaned against the wall, casually pointing the camcorder at Misty as though she were filming a family holiday.  
Misty studied Remington: the man was very muscular, he was just standing there, watching her . . . and Misty braced herself. When Remington came at her she was going to be ready! Misty was going to kick him square between the legs!  
But . . .  
Remington did not come at her.  
Several seconds crawled by and the man merely hung back, not even inching toward her.  
Nerves stiffened Misty's limbs like an Ice Beam attack. No one was talking. No one was moving.   
Then, Misty's attention flickered to Shard.   
Shard was moving – approaching her at a Slowpoke's pace. Misty shook her head, utterly surprised! She then instantly berated herself for being dumb enough to feel surprise at all. He was a dammed Rocket after all.   
“Shard!" Misty stepped back, her voice warning him— pleading with him. “Don't do it!"  
Shard exhaled, turning back to Glare. "Start the camera now."  
"You got it, Sir."  
Misty balled her fists, shouting: “Wait! What are you going to do!?”  
Shard did not acknowledge Misty's demand, instead he came at her!   
The Rocket’s hands were instantly upon her wrists –- he was strong, his fingers clenching her like a deadlock. Misty squirmed, she kicked at him, nailing him in his thigh, but he barely grunted. Why had she taken off her heels? These plushy socks were worthless weapons! Misty raised her leg to strike him again, but holding her wrists, Shard easily overpowered her. He was twice her size and built of solid muscle! Without any strain, he pushed Misty backward and she tumbled upon the bed.   
Misty screamed at him, irate curse words flying from her lips. When words failed to deter him, Misty reattempted her kicking efforts! If she could only nail him in the groin, he’d have to stop then. She felt her foot make contact with his stomach, then his ribs, but she was causing him minimal discomfort at best, and the Elite Rocket was far from dissuaded.  
“STOP IT!" Misty wailed, desperate to cease his assault. “Why are you doing this?"  
Shard uttered no reply. Misty gaped up at him, she was lying on her back now and he was looming over her. His hand made abrupt contact with her cheek. Misty gasped, more startled than actually hurt. Shard had . . . slapped her? She had expected a knuckled punch.  
Next Shard reached forward, forcefully seizing the bandage from Misty's head. This action ripped the forming scabs from her scalp, her old wounds re-opened and new blood dripped down her face. Misty cried out, her scalp stinging with pain. Shard then snatched a fistful of her hair, jerking Misty's head toward him and slapping her three more times. Misty yelped, her jaw and cheeks were burning. The blood was now mating in her eyelashes. Misty swore at him over and over again. But Shard was not finished: he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her upright and off of the bed. With her hands now free, Misty smacked his face as hard as she possibly could! Shard grit his teeth against her defense, but his grip did not slacken. Instead he threw her back down! Misty sank into the mattress, her limbs tangling within the bed sheets. This act knocked the air from her lungs and Misty gasped.  
“Stop." Shard stated suddenly, turning away from Misty.  
Misty scrambled upright. She was trembling, a blend of frustration and rage bubbling within her! She blinked against the blood in her eyes and rubbed her stinging cheeks. Misty moved her fingers across her face, checking for any new wounds. Luckily nothing felt swollen or broken. Shard had slapped her and pushed her around, but he did not actually damage her. His strikes were all open-handed, not closed fists. Misty was relieved, but confused.  
"That was decent, Shard.” Glare commented dully. "Ripping off the bandage was a nice touch . . . although, now Ketchum will see that her wounds were tended to in the first place—"  
"That won't matter.” Shard severed her words. "Ketchum won't be focusing on that. He'll be focusing on the fact that his fiancée is being harmed. And even so, Ketchum can reason that we obviously have to keep her alive. Miss Waterflower is of no value dead."  
"Fair enough.” Remington yawned, moseying toward the exit. "Are we done here? I've got things to do."  
Shard nodded. "Glare get that video to the Indigo Plateau immediately."  
“Yuppers." Glare saluted him mockingly, and then she and Remington headed out the door.   
Misty did not move until the door hissed shut behind them. Her sight fixed accusingly upon Shard. She might not have the official codename, but Misty was just as capable of a malevolent glare. Misty’s sight assaulted Shard with raw devastation— she wanted him to SEE how outraged she was, how . . . hurt, and not just physically.   
"I'll bandage your head.” Shard stated, seemingly immune to her the feelings. His cool tone was a perfect match to the hair on his head.  
Misty stood up, she was unsteady, but held her ground. "Don't you dare come near me! You told me that I would not be beaten if I complied with your horrible Rocket wishes. I have been extremely compliant!" Misty pressed her hand to her scalp, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding.  
Shard sighed, brushing blue hair from his mask. He frowned . . . and, if Misty were not already convinced of his horribleness, she might actually have thought that he looked sorry. "Miss Waterflower, I am not the boss around here. Your beating, the video, it was all an order. It had to be carried out by someone. I thought it better myself than Remington. I apologize."  
“Well, you can stuff your apology up your ass."  
Shard approached her, carefully reaching for her arm. Misty recoiled, swatting at him as though he were a Venonat. Like before, Shard gained the upper hand, he pushed her backward until she tumbled upon the bed. Misty lay there, gawking at him, completely seething. The blood from her head was ruining the turquoise pillow and Misty wanted to sock him over the head with it!  
"Sit still, Miss Waterflower. I'll re-dress your head.” Shard stated calmly. Was he totally oblivious to her fury? What was wrong with him? Misty's temper surged upward, the blood in her veins felt as though it were about to boil and explode from her skin.   
Shard had an extreme knack for infuriating the hell out of her and then playing coy to her rage! Granted, Misty now had to admit that she was relived that Remington was not allowed to touch her. She might be nearly dead if he had. And, granted also, that Shard had not seriously harmed her. But how dare he break his word!  
Misty exhaled . . . Shard was a Rocket, and Rockets did not keep their word. They were traitorous liars. She knew this. So why was she even surprised? Why did she even feel a small sting of betrayal?  
Misty had learned her lesson.  
"I don't want you to re-dress my head! I don't want you to touch me at all. EVER!" Misty swung at him with her fist again, but her wooziness caused her to miss by an embarrassing amount of space.  
Shard chose not to comment on her terrible aim. "Calm down, will you? If you never allow me to touch you again ever, then who is going to stop all that bleeding?"  
"YOU caused it!" Misty fumed.  
"You know that I was barely hurting you. I had to make it look rough. I did nothing but slap your cheeks and push you into the soft bed. I probably saved you from a Remington-induced coma.” Shard huffed, at least she was finally starting to exasperate him, if nothing else. “Just think about what I’m saying and stop being difficult.”  
“I missed kicking you square in the balls before, but I won’t miss again! So don’t you dare come near me.”  
Shard took on a queasy expression. "You wouldn't dare."  
"Wanna bet!” Misty kicked the air in front of him, purposely missing his mid-section by less than a few inches.  
Shard visibly hesitated. He seemed to be calculating whether or not she was physically sound enough to back up that threat. After a moment he took a small step backward, apparently he was not going to chance it. "I can understand why you think that I deserve that, but you need to calm down and be obedient. I can't protect you if you continue to spiral out of control like this."  
“Be obedient!? Spiral out of control?! Oh, that's it! How dare you! You just slapped me around and filmed it in order to break my fiancé’s heart. Damn right I'm out of control.” Misty stalked toward Shard now. “I'm going to kick you between the legs SO hard! I only hope you've got enough junk down there to even feel the pain. Of course, I'm not so certain—” Misty pointed to the massive gun strapped across Shard's back. “—a man who carries a gun that size is sure to be making up for other shortcomings."  
Shard cracked a slight grin, Misty expected him to scowl. "Oh, on the contrary, Miss Waterflower—” he held a teasing air in his tone. “—haven't you heard the saying? The bigger the man’s gun the bigger the man’s—"  
Misty covered her ears. "Stop right there! Leave me alone or you’re getting this!” She air-kicked at him again and he hopped backward. "I'd rather bleed to death here and now than listen to YOU! Or be a part of this sick plan any longer."  
"Fine." Shard was no longer amused. His voice was crisp and the grin had vanished. "The medical kit is still under the bed. I suggest your take it into the bathroom and try to re-dress your head in the mirror. I'm leaving to get your soup and the journal. I'll be back shortly. Hopefully by then you'll cool down enough to realize that I’m trying to spare you further serious injury." Shard turned quickly and exited the room.  
Misty picked up her bloodstained pillow. She needed something to wipe away her oncoming tears with. This poor pillow had become the collector of her body’s grief.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Team Rocket did not buy Lance's ploy to stall for time. It wasn't that Ash had actually thought they would accept a mere million dollars in exchange for a priceless Pokemon, but he certainly was not prepared for the barbaric response which he received.   
Team Rocket replied to the monetary offer with a horrifying video. A video which depicted Misty being brutalized. Brutalized by some male Rocket twice her size. She fought back bravely, Ash expected as much, and was relieved that they had not broken her spirit. But, despite her self-defense efforts, Misty was easily overpowered by her assailant.  
Witnessing this unnecessary cruelty caused Ash to turn his office wall into a punching bag. Two sets of bloody knuckles later and Ash accepted that there was nothing he could do. He was as helpless as Misty was in that video. Thank Moltres for a friend like Lance. Lance had entered the scene and instructed Ash to calm down. He advised Ash to save his rage for the bastard who was hitting Misty. Ash intended to do just that.  
Lance and Ash had expected Team Rocket to reject the money-bribe, but their retaliation was far quicker and far more violent than either man had anticipated. That video . . . Ash’s memory would not cease its torture upon him. Every time he closed his eyes he could see her face – shocked from pain, crying out, telling her assaulter to stop! Ash trembled as the memory plagued him once more. He HAD to save Misty. He could NOT endure one more video or photograph of her being harmed . . . not one more reminder that he, the Pokemon Master Ketchum, was powerless.  
Ash prayed that Misty could just hang on. He knew that she was an incredibly strong person, but undergoing such physical punishment was bound to wear her down. Ash was griping the edge of a nervous-breakdown. He needed to grasp whatever positives were tangled within this nightmare. If he didn't, he would surely lose his mind.   
Lance had reached out, reeling Ash's wits in with some strong reasons to be hopeful. For starters, Lance had reminded him that the million dollar offer HAD bought them some time. Also (during Ash's meeting with his Elite Four, Professor Elm and Officer Jenny) Lance had presented a brilliant scheme. Not only had Lance strategized a plan A, but a plan B as well. Ash's sanity now had many-a-rope to cling too. Ash just hoped that Team Rocket would follow along with plan A. He wanted Misty back in his arms long before plan B had to be realized.   
Ash focused his thoughts upon plan A. He had to understand every detail perfectly. A few hours ago Lance had flown the nation’s top Ditto to the Plateau, and this Pokemon had begun immediate training.   
The goal: for Ditto to perfectly mimic the appearance and behavior of the genetic monster Pokemon.   
The Ditto was flown under the strictest conditions of privacy. Lance was not taking any chances: he was training this Ditto personally. The Ditto had to be a flawless copy. While Lance was busy training the fake, Ash just had to wait for Team Rocket to contact him again to arrange details for swapping Misty.   
Ash knew that the Rockets would get to determine the location and time of the swap, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that: he would hand over a phony Master Ball with the Ditto. The Rockets would most likely release the Pokemon (to be sure it was their monster), and the Ditto would then already be in monster form and equipped with some basic psychic attacks. Team Rocket would leave with their Pokemon and Ash would leave with Misty. By the time the Rockets realized they had been duped, it would be too late.   
It was a terrific plan and it just HAD to work.  
Ash embraced this plan as though every fiber of Misty's being were woven within it. This plan was the merciful hand yanking his mind from the edge, keeping him sane. The little Ditto was as brave as they came and also a true master at holding form. It was prepared to die, or even be forced to join Team Rocket, but was given instructions to transform and escape at the first available opportunity.  
There was, of course, a chance that Team Rocket would suspect a phony and somehow find out. In which case Misty's situation would become rapidly lethal. But, it was a chance that Ash had to take. He could not truly relinquish the Rocket’s Pokemon and there was no guarantee that Lance's plan would succeed. The only guarantee was that Misty would die if he didn't TRY. She had a chance with plan A.  
And, there always was plan B. . .  
But Ash prayed that it wouldn't come to that. For everyone's sake.  
Right now Ash was in his office. Alone. He had sent Pikachu to help Lance train the Ditto. Ash needed solo time to think, to prepare himself for the possibility that he may never hold Misty again.   
Ash was jarred from his personal hell when his cellphone began to ring. The display identified Lance as the caller.  
"Yes?" Ash knew that he sounded desperate.  
"Things are going better than expected.” Came Lance. "A Rocket Zubat just dumped a letter off at the front door. The Rockets are demanding that we meet them at the old Pewter City stone quarry. TONIGHT. 11PM. We can NOT be late. They expect us both, but no others. They are prepared to make the swap."  
Ash glanced at his clock, it was 8AM. "Is Ditto ready?"  
"Ditto will be by 11 tonight. Don't worry, Ash. Misty will be in your arms by midnight."  
Ash breathed a bit easier, but his heart beat like a foreboding war drum. "Thank you, Lance."  
"Of course.” Lance meant it.  
A friend like Lance was rarer than an Articuno. Lance helped because he could, not because he had anything to gain. Lance would be risking his very life tonight and Ash would never forget it.  
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Misty Waterflower buried her face between her hands. Her fingers became a temporary mask, shielding her sorrows from the world.   
But then the masked façade of Elite Rocket Shard crept into her minds-eye and Misty quickly set her hands aside. She was not a coward like him. Despite the despair which engulfed her, Misty would hide from no one with a mask of fingers or fabric.   
Tears blurred Misty’s vision, but she beat them back with her lashes. These were not tears of self-pity, but rather those wrought from physical pain. Misty had spent the last hour pressing a bandage against her scalp. Her head had been bleeding heavily, but had finally stopped.   
Due to Shard's assault there were a few red marks across her cheeks, however, he had not broken any skin on her face. Misty was going to be okay, at least for the time being.   
Misty sighed, allowing herself to fall backward into the sheets of her prison bed. She closed her eyes . . . she was just so weary . . .  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
"Miss Waterflower?"  
Misty pulled the comforter over her head and rolled over.  
"Miss Waterflower?"  
Misty groaned and pressed her face into the sheets. It couldn't be time to get up already.  
"MISS Waterflowrer?"  
"W-what?" Misty mumbled groggily, rubbing at her eyes. “Ash? What time is it—" Realization slammed her like a wrecking-ball! Her eyes snapped open, pulse banging behind her eardrums. For a brief moment Misty had thought that she was home. In her own bed. With Ash. But Ash would never wake her with a ‘Miss Waterflower’.  
Misty shot upright, disoriented and alarmed. As her sight focused, the shape of a young man began to form . . . he had spiky blue hair and wore a mask.  
"Shard?" His name was all she could muster, as her adrenaline pulsated at light speed, warning her that: here stood the source of her bleeding scalp.  
Shard was leaning over her, he actually seemed concerned.   
“Hi there, Snorlax.” He smiled softly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but you've been asleep for seven hours and—"  
"SEVEN HOURS?" Misty shook her head. "No, no, I just lay down a moment ago. I'm certain of it . . ." Misty's voice escaped her. She paused, realizing that she did feel unbelievably rested considering all she had been through.  
Shard’s smile deepened. "Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty."  
Misty stiffened. Those were very familiar words. "What did you just say?"  
"What do you mean?" Shard asked thoughtfully.  
"That saying, repeat it."  
Shard shrugged, but humored her request: “Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty."  
Misty relaxed now, in fact, she almost matched his grin. It had been a long time since she had heard that expression uttered. Misty was startled by the comfort she received from such mere words. Though she owed Shard no explanation, her lips delivered one anyway: “A great man I once knew, a professor, he use to say that all the time."  
Shard tilted his head, curious. "Oh?"  
"He's gone now . . . dead."  
"I'm sorry.” Shard sounded sincere, but as always, Misty could not tell if he actually was.  
"You should be sorry!” Misty's tone burned like a hot poker. "Your monster Pokemon murdered him."  
There was no reaction from Shard. She might as well have told him his hair was blue. Misty shook her head, allowing the sad topic to expire in the air between them. Misty did not want to argue with him about anything right now, especially something that was an emotional trigger for her. Granted, she was still infuriated with him for smacking her around. Especially after he’d promised to watch out for her! But, after getting some sleep, the sensible part of Misty told her that Shard really did not want to hurt her. The Rocket had kept the punishment as light as he could. Misty understood that it was either Shard handled her or she would incur the wrath of Remington. Remington, no doubt, would have caused far worse damage than a scalp wound. Misty reached upward and touched the bandage she had messily wrapped around her head. She was pleasantly surprised that it was still intact after she had slept for so many hours.   
Shard took notice of her bandage exploration. He knelt down so that they were at eye-level. He seemed to be assessing the damage he had caused her face. “How do you feel?”  
“Like one asshole punched me in the head, then later another asshole yanked the bandage off along with my scab.”   
“Will you allow the second asshole to examine your wound, please?”  
“Only since the second asshole said ‘please’.”  
The rocket remained straight-faced and approached Misty. He carefully removed her bandage. He spend a few tedious minuets examining her scalp, and even poked at it. Her head was sore, but not painful. Finally Shard took a step back, nodding conclusively. “It’s healing nicely. In fact, you don’t need to bandage this anymore. Let it breathe. Your eye looks nearly perfect as well, the swelling completely dissipated while you slept.”   
Shard then turned and picked up a tote bag from the floor. "I brought you a bowl of soup, some snacks and that issue of Water Pokemon with the Sweel feature. I came by with everything hours ago, but you were out cold."  
Misty's stomach growled at just the mention of food. "Where's the soup!?”   
Shard reached into the tote bag and withdrew a large Tupperware container and a spoon. He peeled back the lid and steam wafted from within, a delicious aroma greeted Misty’s senses.  
"Since you refused to tell me what kind of soup you wanted," Shard began, "I took the liberty of ordering you my favorite soup. Broccoli and Cheddar."  
Misty snatched the soup from his hands, tossed the spoon aside, and began guzzling it straight from the container. It was wonderfully warm, hearty and flavorfully rich! The ingredients actually tasted fresh. Not half-bad for Rocket food.  
Shard looked quite pleased with himself. "I guess I chose your favorite soup as well."  
Misty didn't answer him. She wouldn't want to admit that she had a favorite anything in common with a Rocket.   
After a short moment Misty had drained the container of all soup remnants. Her stomach gurgled happily, she had been hungrier than she realized.  
Shard handed her the tote bag. “Snacks and reading,” he explained. "Now that you’ve eaten, how are you feeling?”  
“How do you think? I'm heart-sick. I miss Ash. I miss my Pokemon. I miss my family. But I suppose you only care about my physical state . . . my head still hurts a bit, and my muscles are sore and achey."  
Shard stood up, he seemed to be contemplating something for several long seconds. "Well," he spoke finally, "I can't do anything about your heart-ache, but I can do something about your muscle-ache. How would you like to go swimming?"  
Shard might as well have asked her to ride a Weedle into town. Misty was wholly taken aback by his offer. "Swimming?" she asked, just to clarify that she had heard him correctly.  
“Yes." He nodded. "We have a nice training pool here. It's in-ground, heated and professional-training size for standard water Pokemon battles. I can get you a Rocket swimsuit and you'll be all set."  
Misty knew that she should refuse his offer. Sensible judgment warned her that she should not accept any charity or go anyplace with this man. But, her favorite place to be — in the world— was within water. And, if the Rockets killed her soon, then this could very well be her last chance to ever swim again.   
Misty was tempted.   
Very tempted . . . and she knew that Shard was picking up on that. An irritatingly brief smirk teased his lips, but not because she was tempted to swim, but because this meant she trusted him. At least a little bit.  
Misty did not have to verbally accept Shard's offer, her wide-eyed silence answered for him.   
Shard smiled with unabashed exuberance, like a young trainer excited to show off a new Pokemon to his friend. “Great! Miss Waterflower, I will have to blindfold you to take you to the pool. And, I'll have to remain in the pool vicinity while you swim. But, other than me you will have complete privacy. No one is training right now, it's mid-day and everyone is working. The water will be excellent for your muscles. Besides, you need to exercise and move around, it's not healthy to be cooped up in this room."  
"I'm not here by choice—"  
"I know that. I'm simply trying to make this bearable for you until Ketchum makes the trade."  
"Ash will never agree. I'm certain." Misty felt like a dying echo . . . how many times would she swear those words to Shard before then end? Before he would be forced to kill her because of their truth?  
Shard pulled a blindfold from his pocket and signaled her to follow him. "Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty." There was an over-confidence in his voice this time.   
"Do you know something?" Misty reached forward and grabbed Shard's wrist, pulling him to face her.  
Shard stiffened. They were mutually surprised that Misty initiated any physical contact. But he did not shake off her grasp, and Misty only squeezed him tighter— as though the act would squeeze information from his mouth.   
“We've been in contact with Ketchum. He has agreed to swap you for the Pokemon. The details are still being worked out, Miss Waterflower, but it looks as though you may be back with your fiancé by tonight."  
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Misty swam quietly along the edge of the pool, her thoughts weighing her down like an anchor. She swam vigorously against the tremendous mental burden. It would be so easy to just stop swimming, to relax . . . to sink. Ash would never trade over the monster for a corpse. She was worthless dead, and with her gone then the rest of the world would be spared.   
Misty sucked fresh air into her lungs and dove deep below the surface. She sliced through the water, zipping from one end of the pool to the next. Although she entertained the thought, suicide was not Misty's forte.  
As Misty came up for air, her eyes soaked in her surroundings. As much as she hated to admit it, the pool was perfection. It was just as Shard had described: the water was warm and embraced every centimeter of her skin in liquid solace. Who knew that Team Rocket would have a gym-sized, in ground, indoor pool! A pool that was better than the one at the Cerulean City gym!   
Shard had given her a swimsuit and allowed her into the women's locker-room to change. The swimsuit was a modest one-piece, black in color with the letter R stitched in red over the chest. Misty hated to adorn the logo, but she had little other options.   
As Misty continued to survey the area, she noticed just how much the Rockets loved their ‘R logo’—it was painted on all four walls. Other than the logo, this poolroom was fairly standard: white walls, cement flooring and a few lawn chairs and sun lamps. There were no windows or skylights. Misty could gain no further clue as to where she was.  
She dove beneath the water again and, through the blue haze, she watched bubbles trickle from her nostrils toward the surface. The bubbles simply floated away and were free. Misty envied them. There was no such escape for her. She was trapped, and more so, she was confused. . .  
Shard's information haunted her. Did Ash really agree to trade her and release that monster? It couldn't be true! But when Misty pressed Shard for details he said he had none. He told her that they ‘would both know soon enough’. Apparently this swap was going to happen at some point tonight. What was she supposed to do? She wanted to be free, but she could not live with herself if that creature unleashed further havoc upon the world. Should she refuse to go? Could she? Would faking a grave illness stall for time? Perhaps a mental illness?   
No. Misty knew that the Rockets would trade her in no matter how dire her state. Ash would want her back alive no matter what. ‘Alive’ being the operative word.   
For a nano-second Misty considered drowning herself again. She could not think of a more peaceful way to go, however, she banished the notion once more. She was dammed determined to get back to Ash alive.   
Misty rose above the water, quietly cursing below her breath. She cast a sideways eye across the poolroom, on the other side was Shard. He was seated at a patio table and was engrossed within the pages of a magazine. Misty knew that, even if she did try to drown herself, he would no doubt jump in and save her before she even got lightheaded. Misty held her breath and went under. She swam furiously to the farthest side of the pool, away from Shard. In a moment she resurfaced, glancing at him again: he hadn't budged. Shard's brow was creased in concentration as he read. He was deeply involved in the content. The magazine looked like another Scientific Journal.   
Misty frowned. This young man was as handsome as they came, and clearly well-educated. Beyond that, he was well-spoken and courteous, maybe-even-a-tiny-bit-funny. Shard was NOT like any other Rocket that Misty had encountered before. Who the heck was he? Why was he here? And why was he being so nice to her? Protecting her?  
Shard turned away from his magazine and faced Misty. She felt her cheeks burn – she'd been caught staring at him. The Rocket set his reading aside and stood up. "Have you had enough, Miss Waterflower? Ready to return to your room?"  
Misty shook her head, her fiery-hair flailing droplets everywhere. "No way. I'm just getting started."  
Shard shrugged and plopped back down in his chair. "You've been swimming for almost 30 minutes, I just assumed you were done."  
"No," Misty insisted, "I love water."  
"That makes one of us.” Shard muttered, easily getting back into his reading.  
"You don't like water?" Misty nearly gasped the question. She swam closer to the edge of the pool where Shard sat. She was surprised by her sudden curiosity, but she could not fathom anyone disliking water.  
Shard shook his head negatively, not taking his sight from his reading.  
"You don't swim?" Misty pushed, eyes wide.  
"Nope. Hate it."  
"Why?"  
Shard set his magazine down and faced her again. "I had a bad experience once . . . almost drowned."  
"That's awful.” Misty meant it. "Can't you swim?"  
"Sure I can. I just didn’t.” Shard spoke so candidly, like she was the nincompoop for asking.  
Misty opened her mouth to press further, Shard wasn't making any sense! But the mysterious Rocket rose to his feet and approached her. “Since you’re just getting started with your swimming, how would you like a little company?”  
Misty splashed water at him, but not at all with playful jest, rather as a crude warning. “Don’t you dare get in this pool!”  
Shard laughed out loud and plucked a Pokeball from his belt. “No, no, certainly not me. I told you, I hate the water. But you said earlier that you miss your own Pokemon. And Sam here would love the opportunity to swim with you.”  
Misty cocked a curious eyebrow.  
Shard kissed his Pokeball and tossed it toward the pool. A magnificent Vaporeon materialized and swam toward her, his body language conveying just how eager he was to indeed play!  
“Misty meet Sam. I raised him from an Eevee. Sam was the first Pokemon I trained after joining Team Rocket.” Misty did not need to see Shard’s eyes to know they were shining with pride and affection, the emotions were evident within his voice.   
Sam teased Misty, squirting her with a friendly jet of bubbles. Misty could not have stifled the giggle had she tried! She splashed Sam back, earning a gleeful bark.   
Shard had certainly raised a spectacular specimen of Vaporeon, Misty had never seen his equal. Sam’s scales glittered like sapphire gemstones beneath the lights, and his body was sleek and well-muscled. Sam flaunted such long, powerful-looking tail-fins, that Misty bet his Tail Whip attack alone could destroy the defenses of most foes! The three fins crowning his face were raised high, like the proud sail masts of a ship. But what truly captivated her were Sam’s eyes. The twin ebony orbs fell upon Shard and radiated the purest affection, raw trust and fiercest loyalty. Misty knew of only one other Pokemon who looked upon his trainer like this . . . Ash’s Pikachu. The relationship Shard shared with his Vaporeon was mutually cherished between them.   
“Sam likes you.” Shard declared.  
“Obviously, I AM a Water Pokemon expert. And I like him too. Sam is great name.” Misty hadn’t meant to share a compliment with Shard, but she didn’t really regret the words either. Although a common one, the name ‘Sam’ was near and dear to her heart.  
Shard simply bowed his head, silently appreciating her sentiment.   
Sam and Misty busied themselves for a good twenty minuets of water games. Sam was enchanting, and for those precious minutes Misty almost forgot where she was. Shard quietly observed, finding more entertainment from their actions than his magazine. Finally, he raised Sam’s Pokeball and, reluctantly, recalled him.   
“We have to get going, Miss Waterflower. This place will be filling with off-duty Rockets soon."  
Misty nodded and placed her hands on the pools edge, preparing to hoist herself up and out when, abruptly, gloved hands were upon hers.  
Misty peered up, Shard was bending over her. He gently pulled her upright. No sooner did Misty's feet hit the pavement did Shard already have a towel outstretched for her. Misty quickly wrapped her dripping body in the fabric. Shard took a step back to give her some space and Misty turned away from him, flushing. She was suddenly embarrassed for being in a swimsuit before this man. However . . . she was beginning to feel slightly at ease around Elite Rocket Shard. Just slightly. Perhaps he truly did want to protect her? While she was swimming Misty noticed that he kept a cautious, yet subtle, eye upon her – like an Arcanine guarding a herd of Mareep. An ever watchful, thoughtful eye . . . but still a masked eye. . .  
Misty trembled beneath her towel, but it was not a tremble caused from chill – it was one caused by realization.  
Perhaps Shard was NOT just some uniformed killer. There was a person behind that mask. A deep-thinking, blatantly clever, surprisingly thoughtful, Pokemon-loving, and extremely troubled person.  
But still a murderer, a kidnapper . . . an evil Rocket.  
But Pokemon did not look upon evil people the way that Sam looked upon Shard.  
Misty retreated to the locker room and changed back into her leggings and sweater. She then rejoined Shard in the pool room. The rocket wore a boyishly-eager smile.  
“I’d like to take a detour on the way back to your room, Miss Waterflower. Would that be alright with you? I’d like to show you something.”  
“Show me something?” Misty’s tone held equal parts of suspicion and interest.   
“Yes. My laboratory. Your body has been exercised, but this will provide stimulation for your mind.”  
“You aren’t gunna do some sort of strange experiment on me, are you?” Misty was only semi-kidding.  
“My lab is mostly for my biochemistry and pharmaceutic work. It’s just a hobby. And my lab is private, accessible only to me. You’ll be my first guest.” Shard’s boyishly-eager smile grew wider, showcasing his perfect white teeth.   
“Biochem . . . is . . . your . . . hobby?” Misty raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’ve never thought about hockey? Arts and crafts? Collecting Pokemon cards?”  
He crossed his arms. “Do you wanna see my lab or not?”  
Curiosity crept up her spine and Misty grimaced. “Fine.”  
“Is that a ‘yes’?”  
“Yes, I wanna see your lab. It’s gotta beat sitting around waiting to be ransomed.”  
Shard made no attempt to muffle his excitement. He was overjoyed that Misty had shown interest in his laboratory. He seemed even more anxious to show her the lab than he had been the pool.   
Misty walked in blindfolded silence toward his laboratory. Shard's hand perched gently on her shoulder, guiding her the entire way. It was only a few minutes walk and involved a singular elevator ride.   
The scent of sterility met her first. The smell reminded Misty of a hospital. Her brain recognized products like ammonia, ester, rubbing alcohol, even the faint familiarity of smoke.   
Her ears were next. Misty heard a bubbling sound, and something like the vent fan on a kitchen stove.   
Finally there was feel. Shard’s fingers were in her hair, gently untying the blindfold. As he tugged to free a few ensnared strands, his fingers grazed her right earlobe. Misty shifted uncomfortably, silently cursing her own ear. She could feel it reddening, actually she could feel both of her ears reddening. Why were her damn ears blushing?!  
Misty did not require sight to know that Shard was standing very close. Her other senses seemed to forget their observations of the room. Instead they fully zeroed-in on the Rocket. Misty could feel the heat of his close proximity. She imaged that if she dared to raise a hand she would touch his chest. Misty could hear Shard’s heart beating within that chest. She could smell the hint of masculine aftershave he’d used this morning. Now the light was exposed to her eyes, but it was not abrasive. Shard’s laboratory was lit dimly— as though he were creating ambiance at a restaurant.   
“Hi.” Shard greeted her, and then took a step back revealing his laboratory.   
The room was small, about six by six meters. It was a textbook-looking lab, aside from seven spectacular art pieces decorating the walls. Misty recognized Sam’s likeness as the first painting. The Vaporeon was posed in an adorably heroic stance. Following Sam were showcased: a Blastoise, an Arcanine, a Scizor, a Nidoqueen, an Alakazam and an Umbreon. Each masterpiece was encased in a protective frame against any lab fumes. Shard obviously cherished these Pokemon considerably to have commissioned such art. It was . . . sweet. It was . . . touching. It proved that the ice-cold-impenetrable-badass Elite Rocket had a . . . soft, sensitive side? No wonder Shard’s lab was top secret. He couldn’t risk the other Rockets learning that there was a man under that mask capable of . . . love.  
The realization caused Misty’s ears to redden again. It also caused her chest to tighten with . . . with what? Sympathy? Sadness? Admiration? Or maybe she was like an emotional Dodrio? Experience all three sensations at once?  
Misty tried to exhale casually and refocused her attention on the lab’s other many details. The floor appeared to be freshly mopped. A circular island counter was the centerpiece of the room. Upon this counter were dozens of immaculately organized test tubes and beakers, each filled with brightly colored-neon liquids. A glass cylinder was boiling away upon a burner. And this cylinder contained a grape juice colored solution. A vent fan was suspended from the ceiling, and it rapidly suctioned away any stray fumes. There was a sink, an eye-wash station and even a fire extinguisher. Misty also noted a multitude of cabinets and a mini-fridge built into the bottom section of the island.   
“What’s in there? That Gengar-colored stuff?” Misty pointed to the bubbling purple cylinder.   
Shard shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s top secret. One-of-a-kind, actually. It’s my life’s work. I can’t tell you.”  
Misty knew her expression looked irked. “Fine. As long as it’s not dangerous, I don’t care. So why’d you bring me here, then?”  
“I told you: for mental stimulation. I’ll show you something I created.” Shard turned around and bent down, opening the mini fridge.  
Misty’s entire face boiled hotter than any Bunsen burner. Despite her brain’s explicit order, her sight was incredibly delayed in averting from Shard’s backside. In fact, her sight visually ransacked the man’s ass. Though Shard claimed that biochemistry was his ‘hobby’, his behind boasted that he spent a great deal of time doing squats. Misty wanted to rush to the eyewash station— desperate to cool her skin and clear the image of his firm rear from her sight!   
“Here.” Shard stood and faced her, proudly holding a vile with something that looked like lemonade.   
Misty swore at herself, hoping that he could not detect her blush under the dim light. Just because the man was sex-on-a-stick, did not meant that Misty’s wouldn’t beat him with one if it meant an opportunity for escape.   
“What . . . is it?” Misty was intrigued by the lemonade potion.   
“It’s an Electric-type property potion. It will temporarily give the user immunity to electrical attacks and the ability to wield them.” Shard grinned smugly, he knew he’d created something ingenious and wanted full accolades for his achievement.  
“Really? Even Water Pokemon?” Misty was cautiously impressed.   
“Even human beings.”  
“How is that even possible?”  
“It’s a biologic potion and the effects are extremely temporary when interacting with human DNA. Current duration is only several seconds. But with Pokemon they last several minutes.” A wry smirk flirted with his lips. “Wanna see?”  
Misty only nodded, bizarre fascination seizing her as Shard proceeded to actually INJECT the lemonade solution into his own arm!   
The Rocket pulled off his right glove and his fingertips were flickering like five spark plugs! Shard’s hand resembled an Electabuzz preparing a Thunder Punch!   
Misty had seen a great deal of supernatural, freaky and hard-to-explain things in her lifetime, but this . . . was quite unexpected.   
As tough reading her thoughts, Shard said: “It’s just science, Miss Waterflower. Here . . .” Shard reached toward her and Misty stiffened, unsure of what he was going to do, but she was not afraid. The Rocket’s naked fingers crackled with electricity. He held his hand barely an inch from her face and stroked the air a though it were her cheek. Rhythmic currents of energy seemed to pass between them, searing intimately upon her skin. Static caused her neck hair, her arm hair, and even her eyelashes to stand on end. Although Shard had been the one to take the injection, Misty felt as though she had taken a literal hit of adrenaline.   
Shard moved in closer, there was something in his masked expression that Misty could not identify. Was he disappointed that she was not afraid? Or was he impressed? Or was he neither?   
Whatever that something was, it was was gone . . . fizzled away with the electricity in his hand. Shard stepped back and put his glove on.   
“What are you Rockets planning to do with that potion? It’s amazing, but if abused . . . I can’t even imagine the chaos.”  
Shard frowned thoughtfully. “Team Rocket will do nothing. It’s mine. No one knows about it, well, aside from you.”  
“What?!” Misty asked far louder than she had intended. Shard might as well have suggested she wear a Weedle for a wig. “I don’t understand. Why’d you show me that potion? Aren’t you worried I’ll warn Ash about it? Or Officer Jenny? Or literally everyone in the world, once I’m free?”  
The Rocket was straight faced. “Nah, if you told anyone then Team Rocket would also find out, and then they would access my work. I would be obliged to turn my work over to my Boss, of course. That would backfire on ya faster than a real Thunderbolt, Miss Waterflower. Besides, I don’t intend to harm anyone with this. It’s just something I created for fun. I told you, this is my hobby.”  
Drat. Shard was right. She couldn’t warn the world about Shard’s concoction without Team Rocket also finding out. It was a catch-22 scenario. Shard seemed genuinely harmless with his intentions for his potion, and (she should probably have her head examined for this) Misty believed him. But she could not let Shard know that. She did not want him to even suspect that she trusted his word.  
Forcing eye contact with a mask was impossible, but Misty looked at Shard’s face boldly! For added ‘threatening flare’, Misty put her hands on her hips and then stated: “If Team Rocket ever causes harm to anyone with that potion, then I’m going to dress you as lettuce and feed you to Slowpokes! It will be a very slow and painful death!”   
Shard simply . . . smirked at her . . .  
. . . and what he said next shocked Misty so hard, he might as well have Thunder Punched her with his sparkly-potion-hand! “Ketchum has always been freakishly lucky, but how the hell did he land a girl like you?”  
“What?” Misty sounded as baffled as she felt. “What do you mean? I’m the lucky one.”  
Shard scoffed loudly, folding his arms across his chest with blatant — and unfounded — irritation. “A clever girl like you must be bored out of your mind with Ketchum. I’ve heard he struggles to follow the plot line of cartoons. I saw that viral video of him challenging a Dunsparce to a staring contest. The idiot kept patting himself on the back, claiming he was the undefeated champion.”“That was like five years ago!” Misty defended, though inwardly grimaced . . . that was last year. . . Okay, so Ash could be a bit silly at times, but his boyish-innocence charmed her.  
“Yeah, okay. He’s probably vanilla as hell in the bedroom too. I’ll bet you’d have more fun setting the time on a digital watch than fooling around with hi—”  
Misty slapped Shard.   
Right across his cheek.   
And hard.  
The Elite Rocket’s jaw dropped open, although he seemed far more startled than harmed.   
“I gather that Ketchum’s ‘bedroom game’ is a sore spot for you? Figuratively speaking, of course.”  
“Insult him again and I’ll give you another sore spot!”  
Shard rubbed his chin, flexing his jaw as though Misty’s strike had fascinated him. “Seriously though. I follow the social media buzz around you two. I saw that you’re resigning from your ‘dream job’ in the Orange Islands after your wedding? To live at the stuffy old Indigo Plateau?”  
“Not that it’s any of your business, but Ash IS THE Pokemon Master. It’s his lifetime dream come true, and he has to be stationed at the plateau."  
Shard tilted his head like a puzzled Eevee pup. “What makes his dream job more important than yours? A water Pokemon trainer belongs on the water. Not surrounded by concrete buildings and the biggest dumbass on the planet.”  
Misty raised her hand, preparing to slap Shard again! But this time he easily caught her wrist in his hand. Shard looked down at Misty, he shook his head and tisked. “Temper, temper, Miss Waterflower.”  
Misty tried to yank her wrist free, but Shard had the grip of a Tentacruel. He slowly drew her in closer by her unwilling limb. “I apologize, Miss Waterflower. Your relationship with Ketchum is none of my business. And I should not be speaking so disrespectfully of The Pokemon Master. Please accept my apology?” And he released her.  
“Damn-straight: it is none of your business! But, okay, I’ll accept your apology.” Misty held her head high, communicating that this was a ‘one time grace' she was offering him. Though, not that it should matter to either of them what personal terms they were on.  
Shard bowed his head appreciatively. But Misty noticed his cheeks tightening as he battled to contain a wicked sneer.   
“Ketchum isn’t the biggest dumbass on the planet . . .” the Rocket was struggling to remain straight-faced. “ . . . but you better hope that guy doesn’t die.”  
Misty wanted to be furious, but instead she . . . laughed. Just a tiny-mostly-exasperated-with-his-cheesiness laugh. Elite Rocket Shard was an incorrigible-irritating-obnoxious-Tyranitar-sized-JERK . . . and, damnit, if there wasn’t something about him that Misty liked. Though Misty would sooner cut out her own tongue than admit it out loud. She imagined that (whoever Shard really was), that they might have even been friends had his life not taken the path of crime.   
Shard mirrored her laugh. “Okay, that line was corny, I own it.”   
“It was beyond corny. It was pure corn on the cob. I might dress you up as corn instead of lettuce for the Slowpokes.”  
“I’ve received a lot of death threats in my life, but that one, feedin’ me to Slowpokes. . . that was unique.” Shard stuck his tongue out at Misty and then . . . sighed. As his sigh concluded, Shard’s entire demeanor seemed to cool again. It was as though he’d stuck his face inside that mini fridge. “Time to go, Miss Waterflower.” Shard held up Misty’s blindfold and she allowed him to tie it around her face again.   
As Shard led Misty back to her prison room, she opted to remain silent. She couldn’t understand what caused him to freeze up all of a sudden? Right when she was actually starting to like his company. However terribly rude his company may be.  
It was Misty’s turn to sigh now. Though the pool room and laboratory had been welcome distractions, Misty felt reality closing in with every progressing step.  
With every footfall Misty wondered: what would happen to her when night fell? Was Ash really going to trade her? Would the Rockets really get that monster back? What would happen to her if they did not? What would happen to the world if they did?  
And then: every blaring question within her skull fell mute.   
Only one lingering thought remained.  
Misty remembered Glare's chilling words to her, that: ‘Shard will not be around much longer’.   
For the first time since her abduction, Misty's concerns were not for the world, for Ash or for herself.  
If Misty was truly freed tonight then . . .  
What would happen to Shard once she was gone?


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Lance the Dragon Master always played by the rules, but tonight was an exception. He would sooner lie dead than see Team Rocket controlling that monster again. The Rockets were not getting it back. Not for anything. Not even for the Pokemon Master's fiancée.  
In the Rockets last correspondence they had outlined strict rules for the swapping of Misty Waterflower for the Pokemon. Lance decided that some rules were made to be broken.   
The Rockets had specifically demanded that Ash and Lance meet them alone in the Pewter City old stone quarry.   
Fine.   
Lance and Ash were both, currently, all alone in the middle of the quarry.   
The Rockets had also demanded that they turn over a Master Ball with their Pokemon inside. This is where the rules were going to be amended. Ash was presently carrying a very exact copy of a Master Ball in his coat pocket, and that ball had a very talented Ditto inside. A Ditto which Lance had spent hours training to become a perfect copy of Team Rocket's Pokemon.  
Lance used a precise method to train the Ditto. He had begun by showing Ditto some film footage of the monster. Ditto had watched nearly a dozen news recordings of the creature destroying Goldenrod City — the horrific historical event when the Rockets chose to debut their beast. The graphic events on the recordings reminded them all why this monster could never be set free, why Team Rocket had to be stopped. At any cost.   
Ditto was wholly disturbed by the visuals and took its job seriously. Ditto had memorized the physical characteristics as well as the movements of the creature. Next Lance brought in an array of high level psychic Pokemon. The Ditto was able to quickly learn and copy several basic psychic attacks. After many hours the Ditto was able to hold the physical appearance of the creature, levitate and create psychic beams. Ideally, Lance would have preferred a few more hours to train, but unfortunately, this would have to be enough. Lance just prayed that Team Rocket would buy their charade long enough for them to snatch Misty back.  
This plan was incredibly risky to say the least. Lance and Ash were not dealing with idiot Rocket grunts. No doubt the Rocket Elites would be handling this case personally. However, this plan was the only chance Misty had. If it failed then she would be a sitting Psyduck in their hands. Naturally Lance had a plan B, but that didn't guarantee Misty would still be alive long enough for them to execute it.  
The noble Dragon Master sighed. His heart ached with sympathy for Ash. The young Pokemon Master was like a brother to him and, on some level, Lance felt responsible for this dreadful situation. After all, it was Lance who had mentored Ash while becoming Pokemon Master, even fully knowing the risks involved. Becoming the Pokemon Master meant becoming responsible for protecting the monster from the Rockets.   
Lance had always known the potential hazard this meant for Ash and his loved-ones. Lance wanted to set everything right again and, he was determined to exhaust all options in order to do so. He HAD to rescue Misty. And, once this situation was resolved, Lance would personally hire the best bodyguards in the country for her. Preferably there would be no future threats to her life, but the preference was not realistic. As long as Misty's was in Ash’s life she would be a target for the Rockets.  
Lance wanted to apprehend all of the Rockets responsible for Misty's kidnapping and let the law punish them properly. Unfortunately, it was impossible to identify them. They all wore masks in public and never left any tracks, never as much as a fingerprint.  
Lance felt nauseous as he recalled Team Rocket's video threat . . .poor Misty . . . he wished that he could find the bastard who was beating her. He would like to personally return the favor. Lance had sent the video to a government analyzing facility. He had hoped that they could study the video and figure out either where Misty was or the identity of her attacker. Unfortunately, the intelligence personnel knew nothing about Misty's whereabouts and reported little about her blue-haired assailant. What little information was known was unhelpful. The blue-haired Rocket was a suspect in several major crimes – as most Rockets were. Lance could have guessed as much. Also, like all Rockets, he never left any clues. All the authorities had were a few blurry pictures from various crime scenes, but he adorned a mask in each one.   
Apprehending that guy – or any other Rockets for that matter— would just be icing on the cake. And icing was not the focus of tonight. Tonight was all about getting Misty back.  
Lance examined his surroundings, it was darker than Umbreon flesh outside. The sky was thick with clouds which completely shaded the moons light. A touch of starlight did manage to seep through, however this provided sparse illumination. Lance squinted against the night, taking note of the enormous old stone piles around them. Lance wouldn’t be surprised if a giant Onix suddenly emerged and made them both jump. Just the though of being startled in this darkness, even by a well-meaning Pokemon, added to the angst of the situation. He and Ash were surrounded by a good dozen rock mounds, each towering nearly ten yards up. In its day this was a very profitable quarry, but all good things eventually came to an end.  
Lance turned to his companion, he was barely able to recognize Ash's dark shape by his side. Ash fidgeted like a nervous baby Snubbull. The reining Master anxiously picked up loose stones and pitched them into the blackness. Lance knew that Ash wanted nothing more than to surrender the Rocket's Pokemon and get Misty back. But Ash understood his duty and he was sticking to it like a true Master. Lance was proud.  
The Dragon Master’s eyes were starting to sting; they weren't use to straining for so long. He did have a flashlight, but he wanted to keep it off until the Rockets came. There was no use wasting the light until then. For now he would simply keep a discreet look out.  
Ash shifted fretfully and faced him. "Lance?" he whispered.  
"Mm?"  
"It's gotta be pushing midnight. Where are they? I have a bad feeling.”  
"They'll be here.” Lance answered sharply. He knew his words held no fact – and Ash probably knew that too — but he nodded, trusting him anyway. "Just wait a bit more."  
"I'd wait forever for her."  
"I know you would, Ash."  
"How touching! Makes me wanna gag!"  
Lance froze. Those obnoxiously loud words came from neither himself or Ash.  
Lance clicked on his flashlight.   
It was showtime.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the studly and unbelievably irritating, Dragon Master Lance!" Glare strut across the quarry like a model down a runway. She stopped in front of the Dragon Master and spotlighted him beneath her wrist light. "Is asking for an autograph too much?" She giggled, batting her lashes.  
The Dragon Master raised his arm, shielding his sight from her blinding assault. The Pokemon Master was at his side.  
The great Arcanine and his wannabe Growlithe pup. Blah.   
Glare knew which one of them was really calling the shots.  
Looks like our handsome Arcanine needs a major Hydro Pump. He needs to go. As long as he's whispering the rules into Ketchum's ear the kid will never bend to our will. Glare glanced back to her teammates, Remington and N.K. She rolled her eyes, but of course her teammates couldn't see that with her Rocket mask on.   
Remington (or "Remi" off the clock) knew her very well. He nodded as though seeing through her mask. Remington agreed with her, that Dragon Master was a roadblock. Glare turned her attention to Ketchum. He obviously hadn't slept or shaved since they snagged his lady love. The Pokemon Master had dark stubble lining his jaw and dark circles beneath his eyes. Glare couldn't decide if it was gross or kinda cute.  
“I know you." The Dragon Master stated cooly.  
How interesting.  
Apparently he remembered her, or rather he recalled her undercover operation to threaten his life a few years back. Glare frowned. She had hoped the Dragon Master wouldn't recognize her with her mask on. She had really failed the boss with that assignment. Glare was supposed to play her ‘damsel in distress’ trick. It should have been easy. Woo him, seduce him and then make him beg for his life! Make Lance hand her that precious Pokemon on a dammed silver platter. Then she would have throttled him with a smile on her face. But the Dragon Master barely made into the ‘wooing stage’ before he sniffed her out. She actually had to engage THE Dragon Master in a Pokemon battle in order to — just barely — escape. Thankfully the Boss did not de-rank her over it. The Boss was a reasonable man and understood that Glare could not best the Dragon Master when it came to Pokemon. But still: the humiliation of facing her Boss, as a failure, haunted her. Glare had fantasized about the opportunity to settle her unfinished business with Lance. Crushing the Dragon Master now would really impress her Boss. It would be a little retirement gift. In fact, it might be all she needed to seal the deal for her as new Rocket leader.  
"Hiya, Master duo!” Glare smiled brightly at them both, not acknowledging Lance’s recognition. "How about we skip any further pleasantries and get down to business, okay?"  
Ketchum stepped toward her, she noticed a Master Ball in his hand and he was noticeably sweating. Glare raised an eyebrow beneath her mask. Was he really this nervous under stress or was he hiding something? Gawd, for his sake she hoped for the ladder. The kid might kick some serious ass with Pokemon, but he'd suck as Rocket. Too soft.  
Remington moved protectively between Ketchum and Glare. "Not too close, Master. I'll take that." Remington snatched the Master Ball from Ketchum's hand.  
"Hey!" Ketchum protested, obviously not ready to hand it over. The boy Master continued to sweat. However, Glare noticed that the Dragon Master was unflinching, unblinking . . . just as he had been when she’d battled him those years ago. The memory instantly annoyed her. The Dragon Master was – seemingly— impossible to unnerve. He reminded her of Shard, and that was dangerously irritating. She would soooo love to finish him off.  
The Boss would be so proud of me! He would probably buy me flowers, or maybe even a new gun. Shard never even got a new gun!   
Remington tossed the Master Ball in the air like a toy. The Dragon Master cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving the ball. "Okay, you have what you came for. We'll take Misty now and be on our way."  
Remington cracked a wicked grin. "All in good time, Dragon Master."  
"What do you mean?" Ketchum snapped, fits balling. "Where is Misty?"  
Glare chuckled, circling the Masters like a scavenging Fearow. “C'mon, you guys, you didn't think we'd trade the carrot-top that easily did ya? We gotta know for sure that our sweet 'lil Pokemon is, in fact, present within this ball. Obvi! As much as I'd love to trust a handsome Master pair like yourselves, I must know that this isn't just an empty Master Ball."  
The Dragon Master's jaw tightened now. Glare pursed her lips, intrigued. "Fine," he spat, "open the ball."  
Remington chucked the ball to N.K. who, even in the dark, caught it like a professional baseball player. N.K. took a DNA scanner from his pocket and held it over the Master Ball.  
"What is that?" Ketchum asked quickly.  
"Oh, nothin' much.” Glare winked, deciding that Ketchum was cute all nervous like this, too bad he was wasted on that red-headed loser. "It's just a 'lil DNA scan."  
The Dragon Master only stiffened, but Ketchum . . . he looked like he’d just endured a Granbull’s Scary Face Attack! Glare shook her head. Lance should have left Ketchum at home.  
N.K. turned to Glare and shook his bald head. Glare was momentarily entertained by how the older man’s head reflected the starlight. N.K. reminded her of Mr. Clean . . . only, permanently scowling and in a Rocket uniform. Remington walked to N.K. and peered at the scanner readings.   
“Humm." Remington frowned, unimpressed. "It seems we have a Ditto in our ball."  
Glare shrugged, she had expected as much and thus knew exactly what to do. She pulled a gun from her pocket and aimed it back and forth between the two masters.  
"Where's Misty?" Ketchum demanded, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was holding a gun.  
"She's not here.” Remington said flatly. "We expected you to lie the first time, so we didn't even bother to bring her."  
“WHAT!?" Ketchum cried loudly and Glare winced. He really looked like he was about to have a nervous break down or something. The kid needed a chill pill.  
"Ash, relax.” Came the Dragon Master.  
"Tryin' to trick us Rockets, eh, boys?" Glare exhaled dramatically. "Not smart."  
Glare pulled the trigger.  
The Dragon Master crumpled like a paper ball and dust erupted like a smoke bomb as he hit the quarry floor.  
Ketchum's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped as though his bottom teeth were made of lead! Glare found his reaction really freaky and crossed him off her cute-list.   
"Yeah, yeah, I shot him, how dare I, blah, blah.” Glare put her hand on her hip. "Listen up, Master boy, go home and think about what happened here tonight, okay? We’re going to give you one more chance to give us OUR Pokemon and for you to get your fiancée back. ONE MORE CHANCE. After that she'll be hanging out with the Dragon Master in 'shot-by-a-gunville', got it?"  
Ketchum dropped to the ground, holding Lance's limp body in his arms. The Pokemon Master peered up at her and Glare decided that he was genuinely pissed. He actually had a savage, dangerous look in his eyes . . . she put him back on the cute-list.  
"I understand.” Ketchum fumed, clutching his mentor.  
“Great." Glare and her associates turned and began walking back to their concealed car. She hesitated for a second and looked back. "Thanks for the Ditto, hon. I’ve always wanted one. Don't call me, I'll call you, okay?" Glare blew him a goodnight kiss.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty.  
Misty sat alone in her prison room, Shard's earlier words echoed in her mind like a haunted record player. She had no idea what time it was or how many hours had passed since Shard had taken her on their ‘outing’ of swimming and the secret laboratory.  
Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty . . .  
Misty could almost hear Professor Oak saying those words. He use to recite that exact saying to Ash many times over their youthful adventures. As a boy Ash seemed to attract trouble and whenever he had doubts the professor could always counter them with a witty, uplifting expression. The one Shard quoted earlier was one of them.   
Misty shook her head bitterly, the professor should still be alive. But he wasn't. He, like so many others, was massacred by the Rocket's Pokemon when Goldenrod and Olivine burned. This was why Ash could NOT trade her for the professor's killer. Not tonight or any night. He just couldn't. If Ash did then that bloody past was guaranteed to repeat itself. Misty could not stand for Professor Oak's sacrifice to be in vain. Even now, years after his death, she missed him. He was like the grandfather she never had. He was wise, thoughtful, caring . . . always there to lend an ear or offer helpful advice. When she was a girl she use to sometimes wish that he was her real grandfather. His own grandchildren did not appreciate him . . . the two of them were . . . disasters. . .  
Misty sighed, recalling the fates of May and Gary Oak. It had been a very long time since she had thought about the Oak's. She did not know them well, but they seemed to be a cursed family. When May and Gary were children their parents died in a horrible car crash, leaving the professor to raise them. Then, when Gary was fifteen, he committed suicide. May married some alcoholic bum and was now a single mother of five. And the professor, even with his esteemed career, had died to save them all. He was a true martyr. A real hero. If he had not given Lance's Dragonite that amazing potion the beast could not have been defeated. They might all be dead now. The professor's potion was a brilliant creation, it gave Dragonite Ghost-type properties. Similar to how Shard had created a potion for Electric-type properties. Why Professor Oak had created it, no one would ever know. But the world revered him for his brilliance, his heroism. The world would always miss Professor Samuel Oak.  
At least he is with his daughter and grandson in the afterlife now, Misty thought sadly. I have to think of him that way. It's the only way to make this memory bearable.   
Misty shook her head as though the act would fling these thoughts from her mind. She had other concerns right now and she could not continue to mourn the past. She had to think of the present and how to save the future.  
Misty knew it had to be getting late. Her eyelids felt heavy. However, she also knew that at any moment the Rockets could burst in and try to take her to Ash. Misty longed to be back in Ash's arms. Ash was familiar and predictable — she was always comfortable in his embrace. Ash was her best friend and the man she loved. Misty would do anything for him.  
Anything but see that monster freed. When the Rockets came for her tonight Misty would refuse to go. Even if that meant death. Even if it meant not seeing Ash ever again. She was prepared, and she hoped that Ash would understand. She was no selfish weakling. She would make Professor Oak proud of her.  
~beeeep-beeep!~  
The door suddenly slid open and Misty braced herself. She was prepared to kick, scream and raise hell. Fortunately, her valor was wasted. Behind the door was Shard. He was alone. No Glare or Remington in sight.  
Shard entered her chamber, moving cautiously. Every muscle in his face was tense. Despite this, he offered her a small smile.   
Misty hesitated, but smiled back. Shard was dressed in a freshly pressed, pristine white Rocket uniform. Even his tactical boots seemed polished. In Shard’s hand was another magazine. Misty wondered if he had been in an important meeting?  
Misty stood up, meeting him at the door. "What's going on, Shard?"  
"I'm not sure.” He admitted, a frown stealing his features. "Glare and the others went somewhere. I planned to meet with my Boss, but, he was also gone."  
“Gone where?"  
"I don't know.” Shard confessed. Misty didn't have to be a Rocket to know that his clueless response was abnormal. She exhaled, attempting to mask her anxiety. Shard continued: “I'm going to wait here with you until everyone gets back. Just to keep you safe in case things get ugly. I'm not sure why I wasn't notified that the Boss was leaving the base. I have a—"  
“--bad feeling?" Misty finished for him.  
Shard only nodded, his expression Slowpoke-blank. Misty could tell he was concerned about more than he was letting on, but she asked no further questions. She reasoned that interrogating Shard would get her nowhere fast.  
Shard handed her the magazine. It was another Scientific Journal with a cover feature on the Horsea.  
“Thanks, but I haven't finished reading about the Sweel yet.” Misty handed the Horsea journal back to him, pointing to the Sweel journal on her nightstand.  
"That's okay. I think you'll enjoy this one. Please, take it. Here.” He seemed rather insistent that she take his Horsea journal, therefore Misty accepted it and sat down on her bed.   
She pretended to be interested in studying the pages. But what she was truly interested in studying was: Shard. She had never seen him on edge before. He always seemed as cool as the frosty shade of his hair. Right now he was leaning against the wall, right next to the door. Misty noticed that he was fingering the strap of his large gun, as though he were ready to release the weapon at any moment.   
As Misty turned another random page of the journal, she felt something fall from the pages and onto her lap. It was a postcard. On the front was a photographic scene from some tropical island. It looked like a beautiful island – white sandy beaches, palm trees, sun and ocean waves — Misty’s favorite destination setting in the world. The front read Ra'Tala Island. The back of the postcard was blank.  
"Ra'Tala Island?" she asked, holding it up.  
Shard bowed his head, not moving from the door. "I use it as a bookmark,” was his nonchalant reply.  
"It looks like a beautiful place," Misty began, trying to be chipper and casual. "Where is it? I've never heard of it."  
"South of the Orange Islands. Ra'Tala is a small island. My family vacationed there once when I was a kid." The first ‘normal person’ thing to leave his lips and he delivered it like a robot. Still. . . Misty was intrigued. Shard had . . . a family?  
She blinked, surprised. "Have you been back there since your childhood?”  
"No, I've just had that postcard for a while. I keep it with me. I enjoyed my time in Ra'Tala. I have nice memories from there."  
"Maybe you'll go back someday?" Misty hoped that he would.  
"Rockets don't get vacations.” His statement was blunt, but there was jest in his tone. "But in my next life, definitely.” Shard placed extra-emphasis on his final word and offered her a curious smirk.  
Not knowing what to make of that, Misty simply nodded. She carefully placed the postcard back into the journal page from which it fell. Shard shifted his weight and fiddled with his eye mask. Misty wished he would just take it off . . . it still unnerved her. She wanted to look into his eyes when they were speaking. The mask seemed to devalue every word he spoke. Maybe if she asked him to remove it, he would?  
"Shard?"  
"Miss Waterflower?"  
Misty would not get the chance to make her request.  
With his Jolteon-reflexes Shard drew his gun and aimed it at the door. Misty half expected him to unleash a Pin Missile attack! She bolted upward, stumbling off the bed. Adrenaline coursed through her veins like the electricity from Shard’s potion!  
“What’s going on?”  
Shard ignored her, his finger itching against the trigger.   
Misty held her breath as Glare, Remington and N.K. entered the room, oblivious that Shard could potentially blow their heads off.  
The Rocket trio was talking casually amongst themselves, but it took less than a second for them to realize a gun barrel threatened their lives. They bounced backward, confusion and alarm clashing on their faces.  
"What in the hell!?” Remington's words were dripping with venom. He jabbed at Shard's gun with his finger. "Put that thing away."  
Shard pushed Remington's hand away with the gun barrel. "I am giving the orders right now. Where were you three tonight?"  
N.K. scratched his bald head and casually walked across the room, helping himself to a sip from Misty’s water bottle. Apparently N.K. was no longer concerned about Shard.   
Glare pranced over to Shard as though she were about to ask him to the prom. The blond was now also undisturbed by the gun. What was wrong with these people? The gun was not even near Misty and she was freaking out!  
Shard moved his weapon closer to Glare's head and she only grinned. Shard and Glare faced one another as a smoldering silence encased the chamber. After a several seconds, Shard returned his gun to it’s holster on his back. "Where were you?" He repeated sternly.  
Glare shrugged and then reached out to playfully ruffle Shard’s unruly mane of spikes. Shard ignored her annoying interest in his hair. "Well?" He snapped. Glare tucked some blue strands behind his ears; she was seemly oblivious to his question.  
Remington looked about as happy as a Magmar in the North Pole. The dark haired Rocket pushed his way between them, shoving both Glare and Shard backward. "We met with Ketchum tonight.” Remington sneered, grabbing Glare's arm.   
The blond was giggling like a drunk. Misty flinched, struggling not to physically pound the woman who (after all) controlled her fate. Instead, Misty clenched her fists and stood upright. Her mind exploded with dreadful questions. If the Rockets went to see Ash, then why didn't they bring her? What could have happened? Was Ash alright?  
"You did WHAT?" Shard seized Remington by his shirt collar and slammed him against the wall. Remington's head struck the wall with a loud thud! Misty remembered her own agony when Remington smashed her face into the car window.  
Bastard, serves your right! She was disappointed that he wasn't bleeding.  
"Answer me!" Shard’s face was inches from Remington's own.   
Shard’s ever-professional facade combusted into fury. For a brief moment Misty wondered if Shard were actually going to kill Remington, right there before them all!  
Shard continued his interrogation, invisible fumes billowing from every pore. "Why the hell wasn't I notified? I am IN CHARGE of this operation. I can not believe you did this behind my back!"  
Remington paled slightly, he was probably debating the same thought Misty was. Cussing, Remington quickly maneuvered from Shard's grip and he shoved the blue-haired Rocket away from him. "Whatever, Shard. Chill out. You don't sign my paychecks." Remington was attempting to sound calm, but it was obvious that Shard had scared him. Sweat was dribbling down his forehead and his fingers were twitching.  
Glare continued to giggle, clearly delighted by their feud. "Shardy," Glare tisked at him, "I think you've forgotten that I actually out rank you. I am the Boss's right hand, you are his left, and we both know that he's right handed."  
The woman was so smug! Misty wanted to chuck a rock at her head!  
Glare's obnoxious laughing progressed and Misty decided she would chuck an entire Golem instead.  
N.K. had now made himself comfortable leaning against the wall. He was still across the room. The large man seemed content to let Glare, Remington and Shard verbally duke this one out.  
"What happened with Ketchum?" Shard urged.  
Glare finally stopped dancing around his demands and replied: "Ketchum and the Dragon Master attempted to trick us, shocking-not-shocking. They put some lame Ditto in a ball. We're giving him one more chance, hence," Glare pulled a camcorder from her pocket and smiled at Misty, "we're gonna need just one more film."  
Here came Shard's Jolteon-reflexes again! He snatched the camcorder from Glare's hand before she could bat a fake eyelash. "No way." His tone did not offer debate.  
Glare sighed dramatically. "Ummm, okay, Shard . . .” she faced him, lips forming a puke-worthy pout. "You know I find you to be totally delicious eye-candy and all, but, I will seriously have your face broken if you don't step down."  
Shard actually laughed in her face. "Ha! Try it."  
Remington must have been part Abra because he seemed to be taking psychic orders from Glare. She didn't voice a thing and her burly 'Remi' came charging at Shard, grabbing him by the shoulders and launching a fist to his face. Shard saw it coming and easily blocked the assault, instead turning the tables on Remington and throwing him to the ground.   
Misty gasped, unsure whether or not she should move . . . unsure if she should try to help Shard or not?! She glanced at N.K., he was still leaning against the wall, satisfied to observe.  
Remington was scowling upon the ground. Glare looked irritated. And Shard . . . he was casually brushing his hands together, a haughty grin plastered across his face.  
“Loser." Shard sneered at Remington. “You punch like an Oddish. A Dunsparce coulda seen that punch coming!” Shard slammed the camera to the ground and stomped on it, crushing the device into little pieces.  
Now Glare was really angry. The blond cussed like a trucker, stomped her feet and then turned to N.K. "I've had it with Shard! N.K.? Please? I need you to finish this.”  
N.K. stretched and exchanged glances with Remington.  
Misty could feel the blood draining from her face. Fear seemed to clog her throat and she could say nothing . . . do nothing! Dread clawed at her brain, hissing in her ear, warning her that this was not going to end well for Shard.  
He was out numbered, just as she had been when she was abducted. She knew that Remington and N.K. showed no mercy.  
Shard did not flinch as N.K. approached him. Instead he peered up at the older man. "You wouldn't DARE lay a finger on me."  
"Why?" Glare answered for N.K. "Because the Boss might punish us for harming his precious perfect Rocket? Whatever. The Boss is out of town right now." Shard stiffened . . . and unfortunately, Glare noticed. "What, Shardy, you didn't know? The Boss didn't tell you? You, his very favorite Rocket? Aww, too bad. Not so cocky now, are ya?"  
When a Houndour knows it is surrounded, out numbered and doomed it bites and it claws —it goes down fighting. It never runs. This was not the first time since her abduction that Misty had privately compared Shard to that fierce Pokemon. And in this moment, Shard did not hesitate. He stepped toward his adversaries and began to redraw his gun. Only he never got the chance to.  
Not surprisingly, Remington played dirty and swiftly seized Shard's gun strap, yanking him forward. Shard attempted to regain his balance – his footing – but he could not do so in time to block Remington's fist. Remington punched Shard HARD! It was as though years of pent up hostility were now being funneled into one powerful strike. Remington's fist landed directly in Shard's stomach. Shard buckled, wheezing, his knees colliding with the floor. But Remington would not allow him to fall, he snared a fistful of Shard's hair and held him up.  
"Take him!” Remington growled, shoving Shard at N.K.. The larger man easily twisted Shard into a brutal arm lock. Shard winced, still struggling to catch his breath. Despite Remington’s sucker punch, Shard retained the wits to expertly maneuver from N.K.’s hold. He aggressively seized the larger mans left hand, bending his fingers like pipe-cleaners. There was a sickening snap-yelp combo from N.K., equalling a few broken digits. Shard ducked one incoming blow from N.K., and blocked another, but, the third strike hit it’s mark like a battering ram! N.K.’s huge right fist impacted Shard’s already battered stomach. Shard went down, drooping to his knees like a K.O.’d Pokemon!   
N.K. grabbed Shard’s shirt collar, preventing his head from hitting the floor. Remington took immediate advantage of Shard's helplessness and proceeded to barrage him twice more with his fists, this time across the face.   
Misty shook herself from her shock and assessed the horrific scene: Shard was being held up by one man while another used him as a punching bag. She could not stand by and watch Shard being brutalized. Not after he had stood up for her!  
It was Misty's turn to personify the Houndour. A Houndour Raged out if its mind.  
Misty charged, preparing to grab Remington by his throat, to choke him, to kick him, hell, she'd even bite the bastard if it would stop him! She HATED that man!  
"Not so fast, Tootsie.” Glare blocked her path like a stupid blond traffic cop. Misty was going to run her down.  
"Move it!" Misty warned.   
Behind Glare, Remington was nailing Shard with his boot. Blood dribbled from Shard's scalp . . . his nose. . .   
"I think not!” Glare cackled. “Listen, Miss Waterflower, just go sit down and wait your turn. You have a cute fiancé. Don't risk never seeing him again for this soon-to-be dead man, okay?”  
Misty clenched her jaw. She hurled consequences to the wind and floored her adrenaline.  
"BITCH!" Misty smacked Glare across the face. The blond woman sank to the floor like a cheap coin down a well.  
Now for Remington . . .  
Misty's actions were barely her own, she was operating on some sort of Amazon Woman cruise control! She rushed at Remington! However, he had seen her take down Glare and was not happy about it. He was already turning toward Misty, no doubt to ram her with his fist.   
Misty’s sight quickly scoured her surroundings . . . what could she do? She was defenseless and Shard was hanging limp from N.K.'s hand. She doubted that Shard was even conscious . . . he would be unable to aid her. Misty could not reach Shard's gun, and even if she could she didn't know how to use it . . . what could she possibly. . .  
THERE!  
Misty dove.  
She barely missed Remington's punch. Misty scrambled like mad, fingers outstretched . . .  
I only need one!  
Got it!  
Misty seized a random Pokeball from Shard's belt and threw it.  
An utterly massive Blastoise materialized before her. Misty at once recognized him from the painting hanging on Shard’s laboratory wall. The Pokemon's eyes swept quickly around the room, he was assessing the present situation.  
“Blastoise! Help Shard!" Misty pleaded.   
Shard was dead weight in N.K.'s hand. N.K. looked back and forth between Misty and the gigantic Blastoise. He was a large man, but even he knew his physical limits. Blastoise snarled, completely enraged, steaming water jutting from his nostrils.   
N.K. dropped Shard.  
"Dammit!" Remington pulled Glare up off the floor. She was clutching her bleeding nose.  
Blastoise seemed delighted by the Rocket’s fear of him. He bucked his head, snorting, and began to charge them, clearly preparing a high level Skull Bash attack!  
"Let's go, NOW!" Remington yelled. "My own Pokemon can't take this thing. It'll kill us."  
Glare and N.K. didn’t need to be told twice. The three Rockets rapidly clustered together and scurried out the door.  
Blastoise turned to Misty now, his eyes were lit with suspicion.  
Misty raised her hands defensively. "No, I'm not going to hurt Shard. I was trying to help him. That's why I released you."  
Blastoise must have believed her for he focused his attention upon his trainer. The giant turtle lay a surprisingly gentle paw upon Shard’s chest.   
Misty rushed to Shard, he was sprawled flat on his back, blood dribbling from his nose. Blastoise gurgled at her, clearly communicating: ‘help him!’  
Misty swallowed hard, her mouth felt like she’d been force-fed sand. She couldn't speak, but she could think.  
Misty jumped to her feet and ran to her bed. She pulled the medical kit out from underneath. She then knelt beside Shard and gently placed his head on her lap. He was unconscious, but his wounds appeared superficial. Misty knew all to well that a good blow to the stomach could knock your wits out along with your breath. She may have had no formal first aid training, but Misty had observed Shard tending to her own injuries and so she went to work.   
Blastoise was kind enough to wet the washcloth so Misty could clean the blood from Shard’s skin. Fortunately, his nose did not appear to be broken, but it was probably going to be sore.   
As Misty worked, Blastoise watched her every move very carefully. Misty feared that if Shard so much as whimpered that his Pokemon might Water Gun her. Blastoise was not on board with trusting her yet.   
Next, Misty began removing what blood had begun to dry along Shard's ears and scalp. She brushed his bangs aside, preparing to wipe his brow when . . . she noticed something . . . curious. . .  
. . . Shard had brunette roots.  
Apparently his hair color was not naturally blue.  
Shard was . . . a hair-dyer?  
His brown roots were showing by only a half centimeter, but they were unmistakable. Although Misty never dyed her hair, she knew a thing or two about hair-color. All of her sisters were natural redheads and Misty often helped to color them pink, yellow and violet. Misty was surprised that she hadn't noticed this little guise before . . . Shard's hair was just so thick that one would never have noticed the roots without a thorough examination.  
Misty frowned and shrugged this minor detail away. After all, plenty of people dyed their hair. She shoved the knowledge aside and stuffed it into the back of her mind.   
Misty quickly continued her first aid task. There was a good bit of blood seeping through his eye mask. No doubt Shard was bleeding from an injury beneath the fabric. It would need to be cleaned. Misty's fingers hovered over Shard's mask, she knew that she had to remove it to properly aid him, it was a necessity. Only a part of her felt as though she would be betraying him, in some way, on some level, by removing it. Misty shook her head, scolding herself. Nonsense, she decided. Shard will agree that his health takes precedence to his masquerade. Besides . . .  
Misty bit her lower lip. An urge within was grossly curious about what Shard looked like and why he was so intent to hide? Before Glare and Co. arrived, Misty was going to ask him to remove it anyway. Plus, when those idiots returned they were probably going to beat her blind, so she might as well look now.  
Steadying her hand Misty began to peel away the fabric. Luckily Blastoise did not seem to care about protecting his master's mask secret.  
Misty held her breath, carefully easing a finger beneath his mask. The fabric was sticky underneath and adhered to his skin like a Band-Aid. This made sense, if Rockets were out committing crimes they certainly did not want to risk their masks falling off and their identities being exposed. Misty peeled very gently, her fingers trembling as the first few centimeters peeled away. Surprisingly, unlike a Band-Aid, this adhesive did not redden Shard's skin and she noticed that his brunette eyebrows were not being pulled on either. The adhesive was oily and lubricated his face. It was a clever invention.  
Misty continued to work at the mask, peeling until all edges were loose.  
She was still holding her breath as she stripped the final corner of Shard's mask away.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

For a fleeting moment Misty Waterflower forgot about Team Rocket, about her abduction and about her impending mortality. She even forgot how to exhale. The young man lying before her was . . .  
. . .beautiful.  
This Rocket was no longer looting jewelry, or money, or Pokemon. Instead he was effortlessly stealing the very breath from her lungs. In this moment Elite Rocket Shard was vulnerable. His unconscious head rested upon her lap. Shard had been undeniably attractive with the mask on, but without it . . .  
Misty finally reminded herself to breathe.  
In his defenseless state -right now - Shard was the most devastatingly handsome man that Misty had ever seen. Thick dark lashes lay atop his unmasked sleeping eyes. Apparently Shard had also thieved Misty's impulse-control for her hands maneuvered on their own. Her fingers boldly grazed his eyebrows and down the line of his jaw. His skin felt like a Charizard egg, smooth and very warm. Despite the heat, Misty shivered, unprepared for the burn which sizzled throughout her entire system.   
As Misty continued to examine Shard she noticed a cut below his left eyebrow. She scolded herself for neglecting to clean it.  
Unconscious as he was, Shard reminded Misty of a statue. He resembled one of those ancient sculptures which paid tribute to a deity from the past. A cherished stone idol — a work of art — to be admired and awed . . . but never capable of enjoying life, of living it, of feeling.  
Misty began cleaning Shard’s wound. She brushed his bangs to the side, but paused. Her fingers and her sight lingering upon his naked face again. Did he look . . . familiar? Shard was now effortlessly hijacking her memory banks. He definitely reminded her of more than a handsome statue . . . he did remind her of someone. But who? There was something, just something . . . maybe . . . that was familiar?  
Maybe not.  
Attractive as he may be, Shard was a killer. A Rocket. Who could he possibly remind her of? No one she knew went around breaking the law. Misty was certain of that.   
Still . . . a yearning question plagued her: why does Shard hide behind this mask? I understand his need for it when out committing crimes, but why here in the Rocket base? Glare and others don’t wear their masks here. Is he missing an eyeball or something?  
Now Shard began to stir and Misty became far stiffer than any statue. She clung to his mask like a lifeline. What should she do? Put it back on? Hide it? Would he become angry with her for removing it? What would he say to her?  
Shard squinted, moaning, and slowly sat up. He pressed his hands to his temples, Misty was sure they were throbbing. She held her breath. Shard was disoriented and so far he had no idea that his mask was missing.   
Not that it matters, Misty insisted to herself. You did what you had to do to help him. If he doesn't appreciate that then that’s HIS problem.  
Shard shook his head groggily and his eyes blinked open.  
Nope, he was not missing an eyeball.  
Misty forgot how to breathe again.  
A glittering sapphire would be envious. Shard's eyes were the most brilliant shade of blue. Without effort this thief had captured her breath yet again. Like discovering a flame within a blizzard did he mesmerize her now. Shard's eyes seemed to throw blue sparks which smoldered Misty’s wit, her reason and rapidly scorched her defenses away.   
Misty considered exhaling. She debated speaking. But her mouth would not comply. She dared not even blink. Misty was not ready to look away. She longed to be the thief now, to steal a look at those blazing sapphires for as long as she could.  
Shard squinted at her and his brow creased. But then realization charged him like a Nidoking! It was as though invisible storm clouds had darkened his eyes, extinguishing the flames, drowning the sapphires . . . and, what Misty saw in his eyes now told her instantly why Shard had hid behind that mask to begin with.   
Misty's heart sank along with those beautiful eyes.   
His eyes were . . . sad.  
Elite Rocket Shard was a broken man.  
His eyes were a shattered mirror. His very stare was like broken glass upon her own. Perhaps once Misty could have looked into them and seen herself smiling. But Shard's eyes reflected only pain, anger, confusion . . . hurt. Broken, jagged shards of a person he used to be.   
What had caused him to shatter? What had happened to this young man to destroy him? What caused him such unbearable pain? Shard was brilliant, attentive, caring, funny— he was so much more than this! So much better than this Rocket life of crime! Wasn't he? What had happened to him?   
Misty shuddered, tears threatened her and she fought them back. Misty had never seen such sorrow and she never wanted to again. Shard's anguish was so vast that Misty feared it might engulf her along with him. And so Misty handed Shard his mask.  
Shard held the mask as though the fabric were composed of lead, like a chain - heavy and unwanted in his hand. After a moment he lowered his gaze and regret flickered across that beautifully desolate face.  
Shard lay the mask back into her own hand and pushed it away. “I don't want to hide from you, Miss Waterflower. . . .” his voice died out on his lips.   
Misty only nodded, reaching forward she cupped his gloved hand between her own. The mask pressed against them equally, but it’s power over them both had expired. It was just fabric.   
Shard and Misty were both trembling now, the twin vibrations caused every hair on her neck to raise.  
"Shard, are you okay?" What a pitiful understatement of her thoughts, but it was all that Misty could muster.  
"Blast, blast.” Blastoise lay a gentle paw on his trainer’s head.  
Misty jumped! She had completely forgotten that the turtle Pokemon was even in the room.  
Shard smiled up at his Pokemon. It was a gorgeous smile. The smile of a free man. Shard’s eyes brightened, shining with pride for just a moment. "Good boy, I'm fine now. Thanks for lookin’ out for me, buddy. You may return." Blastoise obediently returned to his Pokeball. "Thank you.” Shard said to Misty.  
At once Misty realized that their hands were still interlocked. She felt her cheeks burn as though Blastoise had sighed steam upon her face. Misty cleared her throat, pulling away from Shard and standing up.  
Shard copied her, though a bit wobbly, he managed to climb to his feet. He faced Misty saying: "You were smart to take out Blastoise. Remington is afraid of him, Blastoise broke his leg once. Not one of his Pokemon has ever bested my Blastoise."  
"He's a fine Blastoise.” Misty commented truthfully, then she busied herself by cleaning up the medical equipment which was now scattered on the floor. Her face still felt hot and she wanted to keep her flushed cheeks hidden from Shard. She didn't know why he was causing her to blush, and the realization that she was blushing only made her blush more furiously!   
With the mask off there was no more guessing in regard to Shard's expressions. Since meeting him Misty had cursed Shard's mask and now she wished that she could stick it back on him.  
"Thank you.” Shard spoke quietly again. He bent to help Misty reorganize the medical kit, but winced. The physical act of kneeling caused him obvious discomfort, but he pushed through it anyway and had the kit looking like new within a minuet. "Blastoise is my best friend. He was my starter Pokemon, a lifetime ago. We were separated for a few years, but I missed him so much that I went back for him.”  
"Really?" Misty kept her eyes locked on the neat and tidy medical kit. “Went back for him where?  
“It’s not important." Shard was noticeably trying to sound causal, but Misty detected undertones of remorse.   
She did not want to meet his eyes again. She did not want him to make her blush again. But Misty also could not continue to awkwardly look away either. And so, she took a deep breath and faced him. "What happened to Blastoise? It sounds important to me.”  
"Can you help me up, Miss Waterflower?" Shard prominently changed the subject, but Misty didn't press him. What was the point? Misty had come to learn that Shard could not be pressed for anything. It would only become an aggravating waste of her time. Plus, what did the story of his starter Pokemon matter anyway? She was only making small talk, after all, she wasn’t interested in the truth. And no sooner had those thoughts surfaced did Misty drown them. The truth was, she did care and it did matter to her. A lot.   
Misty lowered her hand to help him up. Shard intertwined his gloved fingers with hers. There was that blasted steam again . . . searing heat from his fingers into hers, sending another blush from her forearm to her checks. Misty averted her eyes from Shard's again. Whether or not he’d noticed her blush, Shard didn't say a word.  
Once the Rocket was on his feet he stretched and cracked his knuckles. Misty guessed he was feeling steadier by the moment. Shard was either a tough bastard or a lucky one, because none of Remington’s or N.K.’s assaults had seemed to cause him serious harm. His nose had been bloody and his left eye was faintly bruised. Misty also imaged he would have some very black and blue ribs. But, apparently, none of these ailments were bothering him much as he continued to flex and test his muscle range as though preparing for a marathon.  
"So what happens now?" Misty asked, interrupting Shard’s stretching.  
Shard stiffened, frowning thoughtfully. "Things are not looking good for either of us, I'm afraid."  
"I figured that out."  
"Yeah, well, Glare and the others have never gone so far as to defy the Boss before. I'm fairly certain that he did not agree to them meeting up with Ketchum alone tonight. Or to videoing you again."  
Misty swallowed hard as nerves tightened her throat. The one Rocket who was trying to help her was possibly —very soon— going to be over-powered. How was she ever going to get back to Ash? And more importantly: how could she prevent the Rockets from gaining their beast? Shard needed to stay safe. Misty wanted him to be safe.   
"Shard," Misty began, keeping her tone void of emotion, "the other day Glare said something to me about you ‘not being around for long’. What was she talking about?"  
Shard sneered, his blue eyes blazing with defiance. "Our Boss is retiring soon. That leaves one of us: Glare, Remington or myself up for his position. To lead Team Rocket. They want to make sure the position is not given to me. But I'm confident that the Boss is favoring me in his decision. Not that I blame him, my skills are vastly superior to those idiots. Appointing me as his heir makes the most sense for the future of the company. It's an honor. One that I deserve. I have worked very hard and I’m the best Rocket here."  
Misty frowned doubtfully, ignoring Shard’s momentary flash of ego. "Do you actually want to run Team Rocket?"  
Shard turned to her solemnly now. "Team Rocket is a machine, with each one of us acting as different gears – together we make the machine run flawlessly. But if one part fails, then the machine fails. A poor gear is instantly disposed of and replaced by the Boss. He does not tolerate disappointment. In my time I've seen gears go soft, hesitate and rust. The outcome is always the same. The machine MUST run perfectly. I’m not going be the failure."  
Misty turned away from Shard, trying to mentally digest what he had just said. "Shard," she faced him bravely, "I'm not the only prisoner here, am I?"  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Shard's tone was suddenly biting. Evidently Misty had struck a nerve.  
However, Misty was not taken aback by his curtness one bit, in fact, it irked her! She just saved his life and he was giving her attitude?! Misty stormed toward him, finger jabbing at his ‘R logo’. "You are NOT happy here, Shard. You don't want to be here any more than I do. Admit it!"  
Shard scoffed. "You don't know what you’re talking about, Miss Waterflower. I am very loyal to my Boss. I would do anything for him. I've killed for him many, many times."  
"So you want to lead Team Rocket? You want to live your life a wanted by the law? Live in a place where your ‘teammates’ want to KILL YOU? I don't buy that! You are more than just a Rocket, Shard. You are talented, you are thoughtful . . . you could be doing a million other things with your life right now. Why are you here? You don't belong here and you know it.” Misty stomped her foot, adrenaline fueling her dramatics.   
Shard raised his hand like a policeman stopping traffic. "Those are dangerous words, Miss Waterflower. Be careful to never utter them again."  
"Are you threatening me now?" Misty was almost spewing flames. The man was a walking contradiction. "Am I going to be one of your many murder victims now?"  
"If my Boss orders it, then yes.” Shard spoke without batting an eye. Misty wanted that mask back on—now.  
Misty took a step away from him, still fuming. "You would actually kill me?"  
"I don't want to . . .” In unison with his voice, Shard’s expression finally flinched. “I'm risking my life to avoid that, if you haven't noticed.” He theatrically gestured to his bruised face.  
Their tempers were both escalating and fighting with Shard was not helping either of them. Misty inhaled carefully, forcing her expression to soften. "Shard, why are you even helping me at all? Why have you been kind to me from the get-go? I’m certainly appreciative, but I can’t figure out why you would bother to risk your life for me at all?”  
His lips formed a fine line, instantly muting him.  
However Misty’s investigation was not. She leapt back to her original line of questioning: "Are you afraid that you’ll have nowhere to go if you leave? That the authorities will lock you away? I'm sure if we explained to them—"  
"I am a murderer, Miss Waterflower.” Shard's words Scyther-slashed her own. "I have killed people. In cold blood. And very premeditated. There is no talking one’s way out of such crimes. Not that I would anyway, this is my job. And it’s a job I do extremely well."  
Shard insisted on throwing his murdering-past in her face. Did he want her to fear him? To loathe him? Not only was he a killer, but he did not seem to have a glimmer of remorse for his crimes! Rather, Shard seemed proud of them. It was . . . disturbing. Who was this man? One moment he was courageous and thoughtful, and the next he became twisted into a gloating killer? Did he truly mean what he was saying? Was Shard really so devoted to a life of terrible crime?  
Although Shard's eyes were raging Misty remembered the raw sorrow he had reflected only moments ago . . .  
No. Shard was not the proud killer he boasted to be. He played that part and he played it like a master. He had too. He would not be a failure in this company, in this machine. He would not be the gear which went soft and rusted. He either did what he was told here or died. If he dared to leave he would be killed or locked away for life. Shard was a prisoner. It did not matter how misfortune had led him to become a Rocket, what mattered was that he was now trapped in far graver binds than she was because of it. Misty had to convince him to free her and to free himself. Right now his resolve was shaken.This might be her one chance to plead with him — to get through to him!  
Misty reached forward and gently pressed her hand to his cheek. Shard stiffened, surprised by her unexpected contact. “Shard,” Misty allowed her sight to boldly melt with his own, “please, get me out of here? You can save me. You can get me out, I know you can. And then you can run away too. I won’t tell anyone about you or where you go—”  
"I have to go.” He snapped her words like a Natu bone, jerking his face from her touch. "I need to report what happened here to my Boss before Glare does. It will be their word against mine—three to one. And I'm sure their version of the story will be substantially different than mine."  
"What's going to happen to you if your boss believes them?" Misty did not mask the concern in her voice. She was concerned – for HIM, for HERSELF. Their fates were wholly intertwined. “Shard, please, you’ve got to free me. Free yourself. I’m begging you! I’m defenseless in here. Dammit, we’re both doomed here!”  
Shard did not acknowledge Misty’s plea. Instead he snatched his mask back from the floor and headed for the exit.  
"Shard!" Misty called after him – she did not want him to leave like this, upset with her. Misty did not want him to leave period. What if the other Rockets came back? She was a sitting Psyduck in here, she had no means of protecting herself. What if they got to Shard before he found his boss? Would they . . . kill him?   
"SHARD!" Misty actually screamed now, running after him.   
Elite Rocket Shard paused, he glanced at Misty over his shoulder. His expression remained impervious, but with a singular reflexive motion, he plucked a Pokeball from his belt and tossed it toward her. Misty caught it.   
By the time her sight left the Pokeball, the door had already locked behind him.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Shard was like a heat-seeking missile — headed directly to his Boss's office. If his Boss had not yet returned, then Shard would stand outside the door and wait. While he waited he would keep busy by leaving a very detailed message on the Boss’s voicemail explaining what had happened in Miss Waterflower's chamber with Glare, Remington and N.K.   
Shard knew that his nose was bleeding and that his uniform was splotched with gore, but he could not allow himself the extra time to wash-up and change. Time was of the essence. If his three counterparts snared the Boss's ear before he did, then Shard would soon find himself in an extreme amount of trouble.  
Shard ran like a Rapidash through the corridors. He only slowed to press on the corners of his mask. It was a nervous habit. He would secure his mask edges often twenty or more times throughout the day. And now that Miss Waterflower -Misty— had removed his mask, Shard’s paranoia was heightened. He could not risk it coming loose. The adhesive was now lacking proper stick. Misty should not have removed his mask, but it was over and done with. After all, she had meant well. Shard had to admit that he was actually quite relieved that she had. Misty had seen his face and she had not recognized him. Not that Shard thought she would have remembered him anyway. But now there was really no longer a reason to hide from her.  
Shard shoved these thoughts aside, blazing through the final corridor like a wild firestorm, nearly knocking over three Rocket grunts in his path. He understood how a Charizard must feel when unleashing a Rage attack! Adrenaline coursed through his veins like molten lava and his face felt as though he’d been sun burnt. The adrenaline was such mighty concoction that it actually dulled the pain left by Remington's fists. Shard was fairly certain that he had a bruised rib or two.  
That bastard is going to wish that he'd done more than knock me out. Shard smirked as an image of ‘his fist in Remington's face' flashed through his imagination. He won't be getting back up.  
Shard halted at the Boss's door. Instinct told him to break it right down, but rational instructed him to jiggle the handle first. The door clicked, it was open.  
Shard did not waste time contemplating when the Boss might have returned, he just marched right in.   
An Onix must have launched a Rockthrow into the pit of Shard’s stomach. Not only was his Boss present before him, but a dozen others were as well. But these others were not just any ordinary people, nor were they ordinary Rockets.  
Shard stiffened.  
These other people were the Team Rocket board members.  
Shard's Boss led Team Rocket with an iron fist, but these were the individuals who funded the organization and gave power to that fist. They were all masters at living the double life – they were powerful, wealthy business professionals, all very respected in their areas of the world. These individuals also shared an insatiable lust for power, control, and money. Each board member had purchased fairly equal shares in the company, of course none as large as the Boss himself, but enough to be granted decision-making power in regard to Team Rocket’s most important matters. They rarely all assembled in the same location. So why were they all here now? It was four o'clock in the morning. What the hell was going on?  
The board members – eight men and four women – were clothed in pricey business attire and they sat around a long rectangular table with the Boss at the head. They were talking loudly amongst themselves. Shard now noticed that Glare stood beside the Boss like an obedient Houndour pup. She was murmuring something into his ear. Remington and N.K. clustered in a far corner. The two male Rockets gaped at Shard as though he were some sort of phantom.  
All of a sudden, the room fell silent. Apparently everyone noticed him now and no one looked particularly pleased to see him.   
Shard shook his head, realizing that he had unwittingly become the Venonat entering an Ariados layer. Clearly, Glare had woven quite the wordy-web. Shard would have to watch every step, every word to maneuver free. He had no idea what Glare had been reporting to the board, but he knew that none of it spotlighted him well.  
Shard exhaled cautiously and held his head high. Glare and the others had changed into clean uniforms, they certainly looked more presentable than he did. Nonetheless Shard was confident that he could best them verbally despite his ragged appearance. He needed to talk enough dizzying circles around Glare that she would falter somehow . . . that she would trip . . . he had to. If he didn't then Misty . . .  
. . . Shard's thoughts lingered on her name, on the terrifying list of ‘what-ifs’ which faced her. Shard fixed his attention upon the board, not granting Glare a second glance.  
The Boss stood up, signaling Shard to stop moving. Shard obeyed. The Boss looked tired but he was as clean-cut as ever, not one wrinkle tainted his business suit. It was obvious to Shard that the Boss had spent the entire night rounding up his board members. But why?  
Shard addressed his audience of superiors: “Good morning, Boss, Esteemed board, I—"  
“Shard." The Boss verbally severed his words, his expression as ridged as a serrated blade. Shard studied the Boss's features, but found it impossible to predict what he was thinking. “The blood on your face confirms Glare's unfortunate report."  
“Sir--"  
The Boss raised a hand, indicating silence. "Shard, I am going to ask you one question: did you forcefully prevent Glare from taking a video of Miss Waterflower?”  
"Yes, Sir, I did."  
The Boss exchanged glances with some of the board members. Then, one of the board members, Charles Cheroux — a business tycoon from Celadon City—faced him. Shard had always thought that the elderly man resembled a Dunsparce, you could never tell if his eyes were open or not. Only, right now, the Dunsparce-man plainly had a look of disappointment etched within his eyes.  
"Shard, m'boy," Charles sighed regretfully, "this defiant behavior is very out of character for you. Until now you've had a pristine track record. I've watched your career with great interest. We would like to hear what happened from you. Right now."  
"Thank you, Mr. Cheroux.” Shard bowed his head respectfully. "Glare, Remington and N.K. entered Miss Waterflower's chamber. They reported that they had met with Ketchum and were unsuccessful in apprehending our Pokemon. I had not been notified of their mission. As second ranked Elite Rocket and the Rocket charged with Miss Waterflower's care, I should have been told. Therefore I doubted the authenticity of Glare’s report. Glare was aiming to again video Miss Waterflower being brutalized. I was not consulted and I found it unnecessary. I also had received no such order. I was not going to allow a violent act which my Boss had not notified me about. I was attacked by Glare, Remington and N.K. I defended myself and Miss Waterflower."  
Charles Cheroux raised a skeptical eyebrow, he turned to the Boss. The Boss nodded and began: "I had to leave the base for an emergency— to plan this meeting. I did not have time to alert you, only Glare and I entrusted her to oversee all operations. Regardless of what you thought was right or wrong, Glare out ranks you, Shard. Did you forget this? In my absence she IS me. An assault upon Glare may as well have been upon myself. And, is it also true that you attacked Glare and the others with your Blastoise?"  
Shard clenched his jaw. He was right where Glare wanted him – trapped. Every word from his lips seemed to only further ensnare him within her wicked web. There was sparse chance to wriggle free now. Shard had to be careful and he had to make certain that he would not trap Misty along with him. No doubt that was what Glare was waiting for, to twist any mention of Misty into an excuse for her to be punished or worse. If the board knew that Misty allied with him — used his Pokemon to attack Glare and the others— then they would have her head. Obviously, Glare had skipped that detail in her report and she was counting on Shard to take the blame. Glare knew Shard well. He would do whatever it took to protect Misty from further harm. Glare knew that Shard would accept responsibility for the Blastoise threat. By taking all the blame himself Misty would not be viewed as defiant, however, Shard would be punished. As much as he did not like punishment, he liked the idea of Misty being killed far less. In fact, the mere thought of it made him choke.  
Shard faced his Boss: "I had to defend myself, Sir. Yes, I attacked with my Blastoise."  
Several board members whispered amongst themselves. The Boss nodded gravely. Glare was grinning over his shoulder like a drunken Wooper.  
"I see.” The Boss continued. "The board has made some decisions on this matter. Apprehending our Pokemon is the first and foremost priority."  
"Which," another board member, Lydia Lynch, chimed in, "I might add that Glare has taken large steps toward. She managed to put The Dragon Master into the Pewter City I.C.U. He should be dead by morning. The Pokemon Master is no doubt going to crumble because of this. He no longer has his mentor or his fiancée and should comply to us now. Mewtwo will be back under our power soon, all thanks to Glare."  
Shard suppressed a gasp. Glare had attacked The Dragon Master? He was going to die? Not that Shard cared about The Dragon Master in the least, however, Glare being the one to kill him would now bump her up even higher in the Boss's eyes. Glare would be praised for months to come for this one.  
The web was getting sticker by the second. Shard struggled to formulate his thoughts. To find someway of besting Glare, to turn this impossible situation around.  
"At this point," the Boss went on, "we will have to dispose of Miss Waterflower regardless if the Pokemon Master releases Mewtwo or not. She has seen far too much and who knows what she has learned or overheard, what with you practically taking her for tours around the base for recreation—”  
"Sir!"  
"I am NOT finished," the Boss snapped. "Miss Waterflower will be left unharmed until we receive our Pokemon. Then she must be killed. I am assigning that task to Remington. I am also relieving you, Shard, of your duties to oversee her care. Effective immediately. That duty will also be charged to Remington. The board has decided that you have become too personally involved in this mission. We are disappointed, Shard. However, we realize your value to the company and have decided your punishment accordingly. You are sentenced to twenty-four hours in the brig, beginning right now."  
Glare's suffocating web had fully ensnared him. She was spinning him, twisting him, killing him within her slick, tangling words. Glare continued to roll him around her web until all thoughts went reeling and spilling from his mind. Shard had . . . lost?  
He sucked in a deep breath, trying to fully comprehend all that was transpiring around him. The brig? He was being sent to the brig? For twenty-four hours? Misty could be killed before they set him free. He’d left her Sam for company and protection, but Sam would not be able to defend her against an execution. How had Glare bested him on this one? This was not luck. She had been plotting this for sometime now. How had he not seen it coming? Shard was a perfect Rocket. He was always aware of everything. That was what made him the best. He studied the others, saw their flaws, predicted their behaviors, he was always right. He was the best. Shard needed to be the best. He needed to keep control . . . he could not ever lose control again . . . like he did back then, when he was a teenager . . . no, NO! HE WAS ALWAYS IN CONTROL. He did NOT lose. He had left the losing life behind him long ago. Here, in Team Rocket, he surpassed everyone . . . and Shard had vowed never to lose control again. How had Glare planned this without him knowing? Wasn't he smarter than this? Wasn't he smarter than her? Glare must have been observing his behavior too. She was just waiting for something to sway his concentration . . . a distraction . . .   
He had been distracted.   
Misty.  
Misty had distracted him. Shard dammed himself for his weakness. He was supposed to be beyond that, the best – the best should not be distracted so easily. He had failed.  
FAILED!  
And because of his failure he and Misty were both condemned.  
Twenty-four hours in the brig . . . The brig was no more than a tomb. A closet, four yards by four yards in height and width. No windows, no lights. The floors, walls and ceiling felt identical, aside from a drain in the corner to piss in. No furnishings. No food. No water. No escape. He had never been in the brig, but had seen it many times when escorting other Rockets to its doom.  
"Surrender your weapons and Pokemon, please." The Boss pointed to the table. His voice yanked Shard from his misery and he obeyed at once, setting his gun and Pokeballs down. "Everything." Pressed the Boss. Shard pulled a small knife from his left boot and another that was, quite literally, hidden up his sleeve. The Boss eyed him with lingering suspicion, but said nothing and nodded.  
"This is for your own good.” Charles Cheroux announced as though Shard might appreciate the words. Shard did not react. He continued to hold his head high. If he fought now he would be shot dead, that was the Rocket way.   
Shard might have gotten distracted, he might have lost control and Glare might have won this round . . . but none of that was Misty's fault. Misty was hot-headed, pushy, stubborn and her words out-of-line, but she had also helped him back there . . .   
Since being taken to this base Misty had helped Shard in more ways than one. Shard would sooner wrestle a Machamp than remain in that brig, waiting for Misty to die. Die because of his failure. No, he wouldn't put up a fight now. He would be still, silent and obedient. After all, it would be impossible to save Misty later if he were a pile of ashes now.  
"Remington and N.K. will escort you to the brig," said his Boss. "I will speak with you in twenty-four hours about your behavior and the future consequences of it." The Boss turned from him and began speaking with his board.  
Remington sized Shard roughly, slamming him against the wall to handcuff him. The force was hardly necessary, Shard would have put his arms out had the other Rocket only asked.  
"The cuffs will not be needed, Remington," came the Boss. "Shard will go with you accordingly, won't you Shard?" It was not a request and Shard nodded. He'd rather not wear them.   
Remington huffed quietly in objection, he was no better than a toddler who'd been denied a Pokemon toy. Remington shoved Shard roughly as they entered the hallway.  
Shard was planning to return the favor. And he planned to do it in less than twenty-four hours.  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
Being subtle was not Glare's forte. The blond Rocket charged inside Misty's prison room like a rabid Nidoqueen – actually trashing, stomping and huffing!  
"YOU!" The word drizzled from her lips like toxin, she pointed to her bruised cheek. "YOU DID THIS!" Glare shrieked now, glowering at Misty with her trademark evil glare. "Now, carrot-top, how about I do this?" she raised her pistol.  
Misty's heart raced, she took a step backward but said nothing. She had no idea what to expect.  
Glare smirked, seemingly satisfied to have set Misty on edge. "Listen, I'm not going to hurt you or video you.” Glare's words were positive enough, but she still hissed them like an Arbok.  
"Why are you here then?" Misty could not restrain the demand in her tone. She was sick of cowering around this witch. Misty was now confident of two things: first, that no one was going to kill her until they got their Pokemon. And, second, that she could do plenty of damage to Glare with her bare hands. Apparently Glare knew these things as well, hence the flaunting of her gun to keep Misty at bay.   
Misty smirked inwardly. Shard had given her Sam’s Pokeball. It was hidden in her pillowcase. Misty could quickly gain the element of surprise if she released him.   
A Vaporeon attack would be the last thing Glare would expect. Misty inched closer to her bed, just in case.  
"Fair question," Glare sneered. The blond propped herself against the door, but her gun hand did not lower. "I guess I'm just here to chat, woman to woman. I'll fill you in on some things which are expected of you from now on. You see, Shard has been relieved of his charge for you. Remi has that honor now." Glare smiled wickedly, her green eyes gloating. Misty clenched her fists, desperately wanting to finish what she had started with Glare's cheek.  
"What do you mean?"  
Glare's grin only deepened. "Shard was ordered into the brig, solitary confinement. It's his punishment for bad behavior. One simply can not go around attacking their fellow Rockets with Pokemon and stuff. Bad boys get bad punishments."  
"You bitch!" Misty shouted. "You were attacking him and I—"  
"Now, now,” Glare shook her gun, drawing Misty's attention to it. "Watch the language. Why do you care anyway?" Glare paused, waiting for Misty to answer. When Misty did not say anything, Glare continued. "It seems that you may have formed an unhealthy attachment to Elite Rocket Shard. Not that I blame you, he is totally hot with those muscles, dimples, hair and all. Hell," Glare chuckled to herself, "I fell for him too once, did you know that? Shard is my ex-boyfriend. Well, he just says we ‘hooked up’, but to me it was serious, ya know? That sexy beast did things to me that my poor Remi just can’t sexually match. But don’t tell Remi, that. Our secret, okay?”  
Misty flinched, genuinely taken aback by Glare's words.  
Glare only tisked. "Charming as he may be, that Shard is a problem. Trust me, he is never happy. Always brooding one moment, obnoxious the next and then flirting with other women! Ugh! I couldn't handle that. I'm the jealous type. I broke the hand of the first chick that flirted with him—“ Glare grinned proudly. “—I broke the leg of the second. It went downhill from there. Ah, but he's just too darn pretty, the ladies were always circling. Shard said that was ‘too possessive’. Whatever. Past relations aside, I’m afraid that he's also our Boss's favorite Rocket. It just won't do. Shard can't cross me both personally and professionally. I don't handle that well. So, great bod, pretty face and sexual mastery aside, he needs to go."  
Misty shook her head, struggling to keep up with Glare's fanatical ramblings. "Why are you telling me this?"  
"Poor girl, being engaged to that dreamy Pokemon Master has only caused you a world of trouble, hasn't it? I sympathize, honey, really, I do. See what men do to us? Honestly! Then again, that poor Master Ketchum is bustin' his Pokeballs to rescue you, when—unbeknownst to him— you’re getting comfy with your kidnapper.” Frostbite now overcame Glare’s expression and voice: "Remi and I have hired a freelance assassin. A really good one too, top notch. He'll be murdering Shard tonight while he's locked up and helpless in that brig. Actually," Glare peeked at her wrist watch, "he's probably killing him right this very second!" Glare delivered the news like a birth announcement. "Cool beans, right? Well, I'll be back soon. Get some rest and have pleasant dreams."  
Glare exited the room leaving Misty alone with the tremendous burden of her words. This vile knowledge devoured Misty's thoughts! Threatening to rip the sanity from her mind!  
A freelance assassin . . . killing him right now!? NO! Shard! You can't die! Misty rushed at the metal door – pounding, screaming! She begged it to open until her fists ached and her throat was raw. DAMN! Misty was powerless to warn Shard. They were going to kill him! What if he was. . .  
Already dead?  
Misty clung to the image of those shattered, beautiful eyes . . . they could not be lifeless. They were eyes who longed to live, eyes that watched life and yearned to join it. They were eyes that belonged to a broken young man – to a mysterious tragic past. Misty had no idea what had made Shard that way . . . so sad, so in need of someone to care . . . but, Misty knew that she could help him. Somehow, someway. He just could not die.   
If she could only be granted a second merciful chance to see Shard again. There just had to be a way to put him back together. Misty was drowning in terror, consumed within horrible threats — threats against herself, against Ash against the very world itself. She was helpless to defend any of these things. She needed one thing in her life to be possible, to be tangible, and to be savable. And there was only one person Misty felt confident that she could help. That person was Shard.  
Misty grabbed Sam’s Pokeball and released him. A blaze of red revealed his glittering azure scales.   
“Vaaap?” Sam barked, cocking his Vaporeon head at Misty. He was clearly baffled as to his current circumstances.  
“Sam!” Misty threw her arms around his damp body, instantly thankful to have someone, for the first time in days, to just . . . hug. A warm wet tongue found her face and Misty welcomed the affection. “Shard is in serious trouble, Sam. Can you break down this door?”  
Sam considered the door and then shook his head negatively. Remorse rippled within his ink-black eyes. Though she was not surprised by Sam’s limitation, Misty failed to hide her disappointment. Of course Team Rocket would have impenetrable security.   
Misty climbed back on her bed and pat the comforter, inviting Sam to sit with her. The Vaporeon at once joined her. He rested his head upon her lap, whining softly. Though they both felt helpless, somehow Misty felt stronger not feeling helpless alone.   
“You see, Sam, there’s this assassin, plus he’s got Team Rocket suffocating him. I—” Misty stroked Sam’s snout, emotion hitching her voice: “I can’t save him from those. But I think, maybe, I can save Shard from himself.”


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Shard considered himself to be a patient man, one who prided himself with nerves like steel. But even the toughest, most enduring steel will bend if placed beneath a burdensome weight. And it was Elite Rocket Remington who was this encumbrance of weight. Heavy and unbearably irritating, like a bowling ball balancing upon a pinhead. Shard's tolerance for his domineering commands had bent to its breaking point, and when Shard snapped it would be a sound heard all around the Rocket base.  
"FASTER!" the older Rocket kicked at Shard's heels, urging him to make haste down the final hallway leading to the brig. "C'mon, quit stalling!" Remington raised is leg, preparing to kick Shard in his shins, only he spun around and side-stepped the obvious assault.  
"You know, Remington," Shard flashed a haughty grin, "you might’ve missed your calling as a Tauros’ driver."  
"Shut your face and keep moving."  
Shard tisked, deciding it was his turn to grate nerves. "Remster, you know what your problem is? You lack a healthy sense of humor. Not that I blame you for it though, Glare does tend to drain ones appreciation of wit from their soul.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
Shard rolled his eyes theatrically. “That Glare is a horrible monster and sucks the jest out of her male counterparts day-to-day life.”  
“WHAT?!”  
“I can only explain this to you, Remster, not understand it for you.”  
Remington shoved Shard backward. He stumbled, but swiftly regained his footing (as well as his grin).  
“You think you’re smarter than me, don’t ya? I’m gunna make your face look like it was trampled by Tauros.” Remington rolled up his sleeves, showboating his large forearm muscles.   
“Speaking of the Tauros, you’re gunna regret all this Tauros-shit, Remster.” Shard cracked a grin like a Tauros driver’s whip. “I’m gunna dress you up as lettuce and feed you to Slowpokes. It’ll be a very slow and painful death.”  
A large vein bulged from Remington’s forehead as his mind struggled to comprehend the bizarre threat that Shard had tossed at him (courtesy of Misty, of course!). Shard had to smirk, verbally volleying with Remington reminded him of bantering with a childhood friend. Only, no one ever wanted him dead back then. Himself aside . . .   
“Lettuce? Slowpokes? Wha—? Just keep walking and shut up.” Was the best retort other Rocket could offer.  
Maybe it was time to let Remington use those arm muscles? His brain certainly wasn’t up to par. “Make. Me.” Shard sneered, boldly presenting Remington with two of his favorite fingers.   
Remington cussed, fists balling. "You asked for it, pretty boy! You’ll bleed to death in that brig before morning."  
Shard beckoned him forward with dramatic hand gestures, this was . . . fun.  
"Hey! You two betta knock it off," N.K. grumbled like a thunder storm, pushing himself between the two younger Rockets. Until now N.K. had been trailing them silently. The bald man rarely had much to say, he preferred to billow around looking ominous. Most Rockets were terrified of him, as they very well should have been. After all, ’N.K.’ did stand for ‘Night Killer’.   
However, Shard was one of the few Rockets who did not run away when spying N.K. down a corridor. N.K. was stronger than he was, but the man would have a hell of a time trying to catch (or outwit) Shard if he ever intended him harm. Besides, Shard felt sympathy for the guy . . . rumor had it he'd been bald since he was twenty.  
Remington looked to his counterpart, dismay crippling his features.  
"I'm serious, Remington," N.K. went on. "If da boss sees dat Shard is any more banged up when he comes outta da brig tomorrow then he is now, you'll be spending tomorrow night in dere. You know I'm right."  
Shard mockingly nodded along with everything N.K. was saying.  
Remington hesitated, then punched his fist into the wall, cracking it. The Boss would not be impressed with such a juvenile act. “You smug bastard, Shard! Damn, but N.K. is right, I can't touch you right now. But you are gunna get yours, Shard, just wait."  
"Oh, really?" Shard's hands flew to his cheeks with extreme melodrama. "I'm so worried! Gee, thanks for warning me, Remster. Whatever shall I do?"  
Remington raised his fist again, but N.K. stopped him and grabbed his arm with his own bandaged fingers (courtesy of Shard, of course!). "You know I'm right, Remington. Let's just put 'em away in da brig already."  
The three walked the final steps to the brig in silence. When they arrived at the door Remington punched in the electronic key code to open it. Shard glanced inside and all he could see was . . . nothing. Nothing but obscure blackness, like peering into a hole in the ground. Shard felt like he was stepping inside the mouth of a huge Golbat. He could slide down its throat and never been seen again. Shard glanced at Remington, the man was glowing with joy at Shard's less-than-enthusiastic reaction.  
"Go on, get in.” Remington pointed to the brig, his tone like a scolding Growlithe trainer.  
Shard turned his back to the other Rockets and prepared to enter, only, he did not get the chance. An abrupt pain seared Shard's scalp — a gripping force upon his hair! Shard was being jerked backward. He immediately realized that N.K. had snatched a fistful of his hair.   
"THIS," N.K. snarled– and with far too much volume, "you deserve for breaking my fingers!" No sooner had N.K. yanked Shard backward was he now pushing him forward, shoving him into the brig. However, during the split-second it took N.K. to hurl Shard forward, he whispered one word into his ear:  
"Assassin."  
The brig door slammed shut behind Shard. The young Rocket was alone in the pit of the Golbat's gut. Trapped. As the utter blackness devoured him, Shard did not crumple or cry out. N.K.'s warning blared in Shard's skull like an alarm . . .  
. . . and his mind was already strategizing defense tactics at light-speed.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Ash Ketchum sat in the Pewter City hospital waiting room. He had been sitting there all night, perhaps seven hours? He had no idea how long he'd been in the same chair. Just sitting. Just waiting. Helpless to aid anyone, even himself.   
The concept of time seemed unfathomable right now. Ash honestly had no idea how long Misty had been missing . . . two days? Or was it three? Since the Rockets took her, time had been spinning out of control for Ash. He neither slept or moved or thought normally anymore. Time was just an evil thing that was ticking away the minutes of Misty's life. And then last night, as that bullet sank within Lance, time became far worse than an evil thing. It became an enemy more vile than Team Rocket.  
The woman he loved and his mentor . . . both were threatened by time. Misty was on the Rocket's dire clock, and Lance's mortality was being deducted by beings with far greater power than any Pokemon. Ash wasn't sure if he believed in any gods, but if they were real, he prayed that they would spare his friend. He prayed that they could all be granted more time. And Ash prayed that Team Rocket would NOT be victorious in stealing them both away.   
What would Ash do if Misty and Lance were to perish? The doctors had informed him that Lance had little chance for survival. He was in critical condition and on a life-support system. Lance could no longer breathe on his own. And Misty . . . she was in the clutches of the world's most feared terrorists. Thieves and killers known for their lack of mercy. Ash would trade places with them both if he could. But self-sacrifice was not an option here. Saving Misty and Lance was not that easy. In fact, saving Lance was entirely out of Ash's control. Misty would only die if he failed to free the monster. But freeing the monster was not possible. It had MURDERED Professor Oak! It had slaughtered thousands of innocent people and Pokemon. He would not free it. Ash had vowed to protect that creature from Team Rocket.  
The Pokemon Master sighed into his hands. His mind was operating in slow-motion. Thinking was like running against a massive tidal wave. No human could conquer such a wave alone. The help of a Pokemon would be in order. . .  
Just like plan B.  
Only . . . Ash needed Lance's help. How could he save Misty without him? Lance was his rock, the anchor which kept the wave from sweeping him to his doom at sea. Could Ash initiate plan B without him? Did he even have the strength left to try?  
I have to, Ash thought, burying his face in his hands. Misty is counting on me. And I can NOT loose them both.  
"Master Ketchum?" Ash nearly jumped, he had not expected the nurse to approach him. This nurse was elderly and had a sweet smile. She seemed apologetic for startling him. "If you are ready, please come with me."  
"To see Lance?" Ash rubbed at his ears, he was insufferably tired and wanted to make certain he was hearing her correctly. The nurse nodded and Ash bounced to his feet. He did not need to be asked twice.  
Ash followed the nurse down a very long hallway, at the end was a room with the words: 'PRIVATE. Dragon Master' upon the door. Two armored guards were posted diligently here. No one would risk the Rockets returning to finish Lance off.  
”Go on in, Master Ketchum. You'll have complete privacy and I'll be waiting for you out here. Go say what you need to." The nurse unlocked the door. Ash inhaled, mentally preparing himself for the sight of Lance helpless and unconscious in a hospital bed. No doubt he would have all kinds of wires and tubes hooked up to him. It would be difficult to see.   
Ash entered the room and there was Lance . . . in a white hospital gown . . .  
. . . on . . . the floor . . .  
. . . doing. . .  
. . . PUSH-UPS?  
He was doing push-ups!  
WHAT THE HELL?!  
"Lance!" Ash squeaked like a puberty-stricken teen. He rushed toward his friend, nearly tripping on a chair.  
The Dragon Master leapt to his feet like a Samurai. He stood up to his full height and flashed Ash a toothy-grin.  
"Lance, what? I – I don't under—"  
“Shhh!" Lance pushed past Ash, making certain that the door was locked behind him. He then turned to the Pokemon Master, his grin fading to an apologetic smile. "The world needs to believe that I'm dying, Ash."  
A smile had been tugging Ash's lips, however, he would not allow it to show. Of course Ash was thrilled that Lance was healthy . . . BEYOND THRILLED, but . . .  
"Dammit!" Anger consumed Ash like a Surf Attack! He charged Lance, griping him by his shoulders and forcing eye contact. "Why did I need to believe that? I've been freaking out! I've been blaming myself!”  
"Calm down.” Lance maneuvered from Ash's grasp and plopped down on his hospital bed. "Sit, let me explain.” Lance gestured to a chair opposite the bed. Ash clenched his jaw, relief and betrayal clashing across his face.  
"How are you not dying?" Ash demanded. "You were shot at point-blank range, Lance."  
"Aren't you happy I'm alive?"  
"Don't joke. What's going on?"  
Lance frowned, raking fingers through his red spikes. "I was wearing a bullet-proof vest."  
“WHAT!?"  
"I suspected someone might try an take me out. I wore the vest just in case."  
"Why wasn't I given a vest?" Ash threw his hands in air, struggling to keep his voice down. "What if they shot me too?"  
"They wouldn't have dared, they need you alive."  
"Why didn't you tell me that you were wearing one?"  
Lance forced a smile. "Ash, no offense, but you might have . . . accidentally given it away. Your fear had to be real. We had to convince them that you were mentally breaking."  
"I HAVE BEEN!" Ash bolted upright, unable to look at Lance.  
Lance stood, placing a hand on Ash’s shoulder. "I'm sorry that I frightened you. Trust me, this was part of my backup plan."  
Ash froze now, returning his sight upon the Dragon Master. "I'm listening. But so far I fail to see how you pretending to be dying can get Misty back."  
"The Rockets are going to think I'm dying and that you are wrought with grief. That you will make a hasty decision to release their monster now. That you are desperate to spare another loved one from death. Ash, I have to lay low. You need to leave this room and announce to the media that I am going to be dead within a few hours. You need to encourage Team Rocket to contact you, and then," Lance squeezed his shoulder, "you need to proceed with plan B. Professor Elm is already waiting for you back at the plateau. He has instructions and knows what to do. You won't be alone."  
Ash exhaled now, he felt as though hours of anxiety had finally expired from his system. "Lance, I'm glad you're okay." Ash met his friends eyes, he meant every word.  
Lance smiled warmly. "Go, on, Ash. You can do this. Misty is counting on you. We all are."  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Being buried alive is a haunting nightmare shared by many. Elite Rocket Shard wondered if this is what it might feel like? Trapped alone within a tiny space. A space where blackness engulfs your every emotion. Trapped where light and comfort are naught but distant memories. Shard wrinkled his nose at the thought. Fortunately he would not be crammed in here for long.  
Shard opted to keep his eyes closed. There was obviously no point in straining them within the dark. With his lids sealed tight, Shard began pacing the compact space of the brig. He needed to memorize how many steps wide it was. N.K.'s word of warning proved that Shard needed to memorize all aspects of this space, his life depended on it.   
Shard had no idea why N.K. had decided to caution him of the assassin, but he was thankful. Granted, he had suspected that Glare and Remington would probably attempt to have him killed at some point. He just had not suspected it so soon. No matter. This hired assassin was no doubt on his or her way to murder him. Or at least that would be the assassin's ill-indented plan. Of course, Shard would see to it that this plan would fail. Instead Shard had a strategy of his own, and in it the assassin would end up dying instead. Shard liked the outcome of his plan much better.  
What were Glare and Remington thinking anyway? If Shard was killed in the brig then their Boss would suspect that they set it up . . . unless. . .  
Ah, yes, no doubt the assassin had instructions to remove and destroy his body, making it look as though Shard had escaped and fled Team Rocket, never to be seen again, blah, blah, blah. So predictable. The Boss would have figured that out too. Shard was probably doing Glare and Remington a favor by foiling their murder attempt.   
Shard sneered to himself, insulted that Glare’s and Remington's plan was so thinly-veiled. Did they not realize how shrewd he was? This was not even a challenge! Granted, he had N.K. to thank for the heads-up, but Shard was still confident that he would have overcome this assassin even if caught by surprise. He was a professional after all. In any event, Shard was now ready.  
It is true that Shard had surrendered his gun and Pokeballs at his Boss's request. And, when the Boss had pressed him to surrender all weapons, Shard had also given up his knives. However, the Boss had not asked him a third time (despite the blatant doubt plastered on his face), and so Shard had innocently forgotten about the brass knuckle set inside his right boot. The Boss had trusted him and not ordered him to be frisked, therefore it was not entirely Shard's fault that he was still armed.  
Smiling to himself, Shard removed his boot then withdrew and fixed the brass knuckles to each of his hands. Killing a person via brass knuckles was terribly brutal and bloody. It was far more gruesome than Shard wished to operate. He preferred to take life quickly and painlessly, generally with a gunshot to the head or a vital organ. He only reduced himself to such savagery in times of desperation. Shard decided that this qualified as one of those times. He also assumed that this assassin would come armed with a gun, and then Shard would only need his knuckles to knock the culprit off guard. Once the tables were turned he could then end the assassin’s life humanely with his or her own weapon.  
Finally, there was the matter of the body to deal with . . .  
Shard had to kill this assassin in a clean sort of way. He could not leave blood splattered about as evidence. The assassin would have to unlock the door to gain access to him. And no doubt Glare had temporarily shut down or tricked the security cameras to cloak her crime. With the door open and the cameras off, Shard would be free to drag the body to the garbage shoot across the room. The body would be incinerated along with Team Rocket's trash. There was also a sink down the hall if Shard needed to do any clean-up.   
If Shard worked quickly he might even have time to dodge security cameras back to Misty's room. Then he could check on her and make sure she was alright. Naturally he would return to the brig before his twenty-four hour detainment was over. Shard needed to appear as the obedient Rocket when the Boss came to free him tomorrow. Plus, he would not want to miss the looks on Glare's and Remington's faces when he strut out of the brig unharmed. They would drive themselves insane wondering how he had endured! Wondering what had happened to their fancy assassin! But Glare and Remington would never breathe a word of it. They would suffer in silence and curse him behind closed doors. It was a rather satisfying thought and Shard could not help but entertain it. Granted, if he left the assassin’s body in the brig (“Surprise, Boss!”) then Glare and Remington could get nailed for the attempt on his life. But that would just become a shit-show of drama that Shard simply did not have time for. Nothing could distract him from saving Misty’s life. It would be easier if the Boss never knew about this weak murder plot to begin with. If the Boss ever suspected their dirty game he would have them punished, probably de-ranked at once. But a de-ranking would only infuriate Glare and Remington further, in fact, it would potentially push them toward more blood-shed. Shard's best option was to say nothing, play coy and continue on as he always had . . . the obedient Rocket. The ever-steady gear in the Team Rocket machine.  
With his brass knuckles adorned Shard felt along the brig walls until he touched the crease of the exit. The assassin would expect him to be pacing around or sleeping. Therefore, Shard plastered himself against the wall directly next to the door. When the assassin entered, gun raised, he or she would be momentarily caught off guard when not seeing Shard where he was expected to be. And — in this mortally brief moment — Shard would attack.  
Fate had a very interesting sense of humor for, no sooner did Shard assume his attack position, did he hear a faint clicking sound . . .  
. . . the door lock was released, meaning this assassin had punched in the correct security codes.  
Shard's eyes opened in sync with the door and the brig was now flooded with light. The assassin slipped into the brig with the stealth of a Haunter — silent and fast. Alarm jabbed at Shard, urging him into action. He knew exactly what to do.   
Within the nano-second that the assassin emerged, Shard had already studied him: he was male, wrapped in black from head to toe like a ninja, and not armed with a regular gun, rather an old fashion blowgun. The weapon no doubt contained a lethal dose of toxin. It was a clean, silent and humane means to murder someone . . . how thoughtful of Glare. The assassin was clearly wondering where his victim was.   
Like a freaky Jack-In-The-Box toy the assassin’s head snapped in Shard's direction. Just as the blowgun went to the assassin's mouth did Shard's fist land in his face. The man grunted loudly as the metal collided with his nose! He staggered backward, nearly falling over. Shard assumed that blood was seeping through the assassin’s mask, only he couldn't tell because it was black. Shard reached out to snatch the blowgun, but this assassin was indeed a pro! The assassin dodged Shard's hand with the agility of a Pikachu! The man retaliated at once, and his heel cracked against Shard's knee. Shard fell backward now, his head hitting the wall. For a moment Shard feared that his knee was fractured, but he’d gotten lucky. It was a well-aimed kick in the dark. A few inches lower and Shard would not have been able to regain his footing.   
"Bad idea.” Shard hissed, knuckles cracking. “Don’t you know who I am?”  
The assassin said nothing and drew the blowgun to his lips again. The killer may have moved like a Pikachu, but Shard was certainly the Raichu! Shard attacked at full-throttle! He punched the assassin with twin blows to the gut and the man buckled, blowgun slipping from his grasp. As the assassin’s backside hit the floor, Shard leapt on him! The two men grappled fiercely until Shard had the assassin’s shoulders pinned beneath his knees. Shard snatched the blowgun off the floor and held it to his own lips.  
"No! Wait!" The assassin squealed like a young Swinub, wriggling frantically beneath Shard's superior hold.  
"You should’ve considered this outcome before you accepted the job." Shard's tone was cold and lecturing . . . unfeeling like a machine.  
“The poison will kill me! Please, don’t! I have a family—" Shard ground his knee into the man’s throat, severing his pleas for mercy. He examined his victim: squirming and pathetic like a Weedle grub in a Fearow nest. This guy actually thought he could conquer him—Elite Rocket Shard? It was disgraceful. PITIFUL!The man deserved to die . . .  
So, Shard wondered, why am I hesitating?   
This assassin certainly would not have granted him the pity of a hesitation. Shard pressed his knee deeper into the man’s throat, keeping just enough pressure from the trachea not to asphyxiate him.   
Misty . . . she was hindering him. She was causing this . . . hesitation . . . this confliction within him. Shard recalled the last words she had spoken to him . . . she said that he was more than ‘just a Rocket—a killer’. Misty believed he was better than this, beyond murder.   
The assassin writhed beneath him, gurgling, bubbly drool soaking through his mask. Shard stiffened. Maybe he did not have to kill this man? Maybe he could free him, make him promise never to come back? Certainly this man realized his mistake and he would go back to his family and . . . and . . .  
The assassin went still beneath him.  
Shard quickly pulled his knee from the man’s neck. He dropped the blowgun, his fingers now searching for a pulse, for any signs of life.  
Shard’s heart hammered against his ribcage. His hands examined the assassin’s throat . . . it . . . was . . . broken.  
Shard had crushed his trachea. He had not been paying attention. The man’s windpipe had collapsed, all airflow to his lungs was destroyed. The minutes Shard spent debating his fate were the minutes it took for him to asphyxiate, to go brain dead. Shard exhaled. It doesn't matter, he instructed himself, you were planning to kill him anyway, as he had been planning to kill you. There is no loss. No remorse. It was him or you. If he had killed you, then Misty would have also been doomed. You needed to stay alive to help her. Shard knew the truth in his thoughts, yet his fingers trembled and his eyes felt very heavy, as though burdened with an unspeakable weight.  
Shard rose to his feet and surveyed the area: it was flawless. No blood. The brig door was still open. Shard hoisted the assassin’s body over his shoulder and headed for the garbage shoot across the room. The body would be instantly reduce to ashes.   
Shard still had plenty of time to sneak down the hall and check on Misty. He wagered it was about six o'clock in the morning. Most Rockets would be sleeping now anyway. This was an ideal time to slip away. He knew where every security camera was. He knew exactly where each would rotate to at every given minute. He even knew how to hot-wire the door to Misty’s room incase her security code had been changed.   
Shard opened the garbage shoot and placed the assassin’s body inside. He watched as the body slid away, disappearing into the furnace. Shard's fingers trembled harder now and, he realized the weight upon his eyes was from moisture.  
Like rain upon a parched desert landscape did this moisture now feel foreign upon his skin.  
Emotion was not supposed to sting a machine. Machines did not regret. Machines did not feel sorrow. They certainly did not second-guess themselves or . . . develop romantic feelings. Machines did not feel – period. That was what Shard had wanted all along, to go numb, to stop feeling. He had lusted for it – the numbness – seeking it brought him to Team Rocket to begin with.  
Shard squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that in turn, these wretched feelings would look away as well. But the feelings did not cease — their eyes were lidless and they continued to glare. To gawk. To scrutinize. These feelings burned Shard beneath their miserable spotlight until he crumpled, falling to his knees, hands over his masked eyes. Shard shuddered as emotional quakes threatened to shred him to bits . . . break him into shards . . . shards of a once strong machine. Shards of a once smart, talented boy. Shards of a moral human being. . . a loving grandson. . .  
But Shard was not that person anymore. He was only just a shard of that promising boy. And that boy was only just a shard in his memory. A painful, glacial, jagged shard. He had tried in vain to forget himself, and for a while, it had worked. He was an incredible Rocket. He had climbed the ranks on his own. He was the best and had become so on his own merit, his own skill. He was no ones shadow . . . but he was a shard of that boy. He had been successful in locking that boy away with all of his problems and failures and hopes and dreams. What had changed all of a sudden? Why was he breaking apart now? Why was that boy's shard stabbing at his heart?  
Shard coached himself to inhale and exhale. Several times, until he was steady. Misty . . . her name resounded in his mind like the chorus of a beautiful song. He had to get to her. He had to see her . . . he had to warn her . . .  
Because keeping her alive was the only thing that could either put him back together or shatter him wholly. Either way, Shard was done being half man and half machine. He would either breakdown permanently or shed the metal forever.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
Misty and Sam had spent the past two hours banging on the metal door. Her fists ached and nearly all of her nails were broken or bleeding. Even Sam had turned his paws into bloody stumps. Despite her best efforts (and Sam’s best Hydro Pump) the door remained shut.   
Misty could not save Shard from the assassin. She was sealed in this room like a laboratory Raticate – waiting for her lethal dose of drugs. Misty retreated to the bed and buried her face in Sam’s damp scaly neck. What more could she possibly do? While Sam comforted Misty, her thoughts tormented her.   
Her thoughts asked her: Was Shard dead? Was his body lying in some dark brig? Had he suffered? Or was he still alive? Was there a chance that Shad had been able to overcome his assassin? After all, Shard was a killer too, as he had reminded Misty during their last conversation, or rather their last argument. Misty huffed loudly, leaning backward and falling into the bed. Sam yowled pitifully and lay his head upon her stomach.  
Her thoughts continued their rant. . . Glare had been SO confident, SO certain that Shard would be eliminated. Misty shut her eyes . . . she could suddenly hear Professor Oak in her ear:  
‘Often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty.’   
His words were the only thing she could cling to now. She had to trust that they would reign true in regard to Glare's plans.  
Oh, Professor, Misty remembered his gentle face, if only you were still alive, I just know that you would have all of the answers. I just know that you would be able to save the world from this monster Pokemon again. Misty had been thinking about Professor Oak quite a bit since her abduction. It was only natural, she decided, her entire abduction was spurred by the desire to unleash his murderer upon the world. Heck, even the Pokemon in her lap was coincidentally named ‘Sam’.  
But . . .  
Misty sat up, her mind reeling in an uncomfortable direction . . .   
There was more to it than that. There was something else here that reminded her of the old professor. There was Shard.  
Misty rose to her feet and began pacing the room. When she had removed Shard's mask something about him had seemed familiar . . . did SHARD remind her of Professor Oak?  
Yes. He did.  
The way Shard spoke, the way he carried himself, even his mannerisms, his interests . . . he was very much like the professor. It was strange. It was almost like Shard was . . .  
"Miss Waterflower!"  
Misty was wrenched from her snarled notions! Entirely startled, she spun on her heels to see SHARD slipping though the doorway!  
“Vaporeon!” Sam barked with glee, racing to his trainer and jumping into his arms. Shard caught Sam, laughing lightly, then set him down. He bent to hug and kiss his Pokemon, but his masked eyes were most certainly fixed upon Misty.  
“Shard!" Misty's impulse-control spontaneously combusted, without any forethought she rushed at Shard, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly. Shard was completely surprised by her affectionate reaction and he froze. The concept of a hug was apparently foreign to him.   
Misty sensed his discomfort, but it did not detract from her joy at seeing him ALIVE.   
After a moment, Misty felt Shard’s strong hands on her back. He stroked her hair, though somewhat awkwardly, and seemed to be holding his breath. He was still wearing the uniform held been in when Remington and N.K. had assaulted him. Misty pressed her face into his chest. She inhaled: gun powder, fabric softener, his own blood and—she did not care about the blood— he smelled like himself, masculine Shard. The sensation she now felt, Misty could not quite explain it . . . but, for the first time since her abduction, she actually felt . . . safe.   
"You're okay, Shard!" Misty peeked up at him now, her eyes appreciating every detail of his masked-face. "Glare was here after you left, she said an assassin was going to kill you. I was so worried!"  
Shard peered down at her, forcing a tense smile. "He tried to kill me."  
Misty tilted her head, concerned. "Are you alright? Why aren't you in the brig? How did you get here, to my room?"  
Shard released Misty’s body, instead taking her hands in his. He gently rolled her small fingers over in his own. This time his touch was not awkward, but natural. He pursed his lips for a moment, considering all of her questions. "Technically, I am still in the brig. I'm not here. You never saw me. Got it?” Misty nodded and he continued: "Glare and Remington did hire an assassin. I killed him. I snuck out to check on you, but I have to get back there ASAP before anyone notices I'm gone. I've been sneaking past security cameras all the way here, luckily I have their patterns memorized or I'd have been apprehended by now."  
"You killed him?" Misty held her breath, digesting the bulk of those words. The very hands she was holding now, the hands that held her so tenderly . . . these hands had just . . . killed someone. Misty gathered her resolve, realizing that Shard had little choice in defending himself. But, even if he had had a choice, would he have spared the assassin? Misty closed her eyes, it no longer mattered. In this place a conscience was a burden.  
"I had to kill him, you know this.” Shard's tone held a defensive edge. "Besides saving my own neck, I had to come here to warn you."  
"Warn me?"  
"My Boss plans to have you killed regardless if Ketchum frees our Pokemon or not."  
Misty did not even flinch at his chilling words. "I'm not surprised at all. Hell, your boss allowed an assassination attempt against you under his Rocket roof! If they’ll kill you, of course they’ll kill me. Why is your boss letting Glare go after you like this anyway? How could he have let that happen? He must have known about it!” Misty could feel the rage boiling beneath her cheeks.  
"Miss Waterflower.” Shard sighed her name, he sounded exhausted for the first time. He was probably looking into her eyes right now, but she could not be sure with the mask in the way. "This is the Rocket way. We are the bad guys, remember?" He smiled softly, but there was no jest behind those lips. Shard's smile was sad.  
Misty gripped his hands harder, her eyes like green searchlights upon his face. "But, Shard, you are not a bad guy."  
"I . . . I never wanted to be." The words left his lips now in one mighty gush, like a dam which long confined a river of grief, now shattering after years of wear and tear. Shard's hands trembled ever-so-slightly within hers. He pulled back a moment, as though debating whether or not to move away. But, for whatever reason, he remained where he was and faced her. Shard's expression was now ridged, anxious — as though cursed with a dire confession which he was forbidden to reveal.  
“Misty." Shard spoke her name for the first time, and Misty’s mouth felt suddenly dry. Acknowledging how she felt now was like swallowing crushed glass. Glass that somehow bled euphoria from her tongue. Shard continued on: “When I joined Team Rocket it was out of desperation. I never imagined myself becoming what I am now . . . a criminal. It was not my boyhood dream, far from it."  
Shard hesitated, studying her reaction. Misty held her invisible-euphoria-bleeding-tongue and nodded, encouraging him to continue.  
"Maybe you were right before, Misty. About what you said. . . I'm not exactly free. But this is the life that I chose, and it’s far too late to choose otherwise. My only other option is a bullet in my head.’  
“When the assassin came at me tonight, I was quick to immobilize him. He begged for is life – as they always do – and I never think twice, I kill. He was nothing to me. My targets are nothing to me. This is harsh, but it’s my job. But this time . . . it got to me. YOU got to me. I hesitated, Misty. I considered letting him go. I had him pinned below me, my knee to his throat and I . . . killed him. I didn't even mean to. It was an accident. But I was actually thinking about letting him go. I-I-" Shard pulled from her grasp now. He covered his mouth with a hand, breathing into it. Finally his hand slid away in unison with his next words: “I'm not sure what the right or wrong path is anymore. I don't feel things like everyone else does, like you do, Misty. And at the same time I feel too much. I’m supposed to be a reliable part of the machine. And I am, or. . . I was, but that's changing now. I met you and something has changed inside me. You are so good, Misty, so caring, selfless and strong. I don't doubt you would die to spare the entire world from our Pokemon. I was like you once. I was a good person too. But I can't remember how that felt, it’s like trying to remember a dream after waking up. I don't know how to be good anymore, but I really, really . . .want . . .to be.” Shard's voice began trembling along with his hands. The involuntary physical reaction seemed utterly foreign to him — this was a man who did not tremble for anything. Shard — a man who had spit in death’s face, probably a hundred times – now sounded frightened.   
Spinning like a cyclone, Shard turned his back to her. Misty reached out to touch him, to comfort him –-thaw him! She could not let him freeze over again! If the ice was going melt then Misty would be there to cup every droplet in her hands.  
But her fingers were not destined to touch him. Shard moved out of her range and toward the door. "At this point," his voice had frozen completely over again, she was too late, “we're both doomed. They are going to kill you and Glare won't stop until I'm dead too.” Shard bend down and stroked Sam’s head. “Stay with Misty, buddy. She’s going to need you before this is over.” He turned his attention upon Misty again. “If you wanna get out of here alive: you MUST become selfish. You’re gunna have to trust me. Let me be the selfless one, for once in my life."  
Shard took his leave of her and Sam, no doubt to return to the brig.   
Misty was abandoned again.   
Dozens of fears and alarms flung around the whirlwind of her mind. Only, there was one persistent thought which managed to escape the whirlwind and slam into her. It was a thought which had clung to the tip of her brain, about to be realized, right before Shard had arrived. This thought had been quietly nagging her throughout his brief visit.  
Misty focused her mind on Professor Oak and then on Shard. On how familiar Shard was and WHY. On Shard's mask and then on his beautiful naked face. On his brilliant knowledge of Pokemon. On the Vaporeon he named ‘Sam’. On his starter Pokemon, a powerful Blastoise — who Shard had unexplainably left behind, missed and had gone back for. On the paintings of the other Pokemon in his laboratory: Arcanine, Umbreon, Scizor, Alakazam, Nidoking. She once knew someone else who conventionally treasured these same Pokemon. And then, on something Shard had told her when he had taken her to the Rocket pool to swim: he almost drowned once. Shard may not have had the Ph.D after his name, but he was in every way a professor to rival Oak himself. It were as though the old professor had personally trained him. Shard's mannerisms, his speech, his haughty ego . . . his age, his brown hair, blue eyes . . . He was even jabbing fun of Ash at every opportunity!  
THIS was why Shard protected her in here — why he was kind to her —because he remembered her from their childhood . . . !  
Misty gasped.  
The whirlwind fizzled away leaving two quiet words drifting gently across her mind. These words were a name.  
"They never did find his body. . ."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Remington came for Misty with a sandwich a blindfold and handcuffs. He came hours after Shard had left to sneak back into the brig. Remington ordered Misty to eat, and then warned her that she had ‘better cooperate’. He informed that he was taking her ‘somewhere important’. Misty translated his vague words to mean one thing: she was being escorted to her doom.  
As Misty choked down her awful tunafish and pickle sandwich (Remington wasn’t very good at preparing a ‘last meal’) she studied the Rocket. She debated whether or not to release Sam — catch him off guard and fight him? Whether it was worth it to kick and to scream? Remington was a good head taller than her and probably weighed twice as much. Even without the handcuffs, she would never be able to overpower him. Plus Misty had no idea what kind of Pokemon he carried. She did not want to put Sam into a dangerous situation unless her life truly depended upon it.  
Therefore, Misty approached her captor. She held her hands out, offering herself to the cuffs. Sam’s Pokeball was in the pocket of her hoodie, even cuffed she could reach him. Misty drew comfort from this and held her head high.   
The metal cuffs clicked tight, binding her hands in front of her. The binds were heavy, but not as heavy as her heart.   
Misty thought of Shard and of his departing words: he had told Misty that she could survive this nightmare, but only if she got selfish. Perhaps ‘selfish’ meant playing the proper hostage in order to endure? Swallowing pride and vomiting obedience, submissiveness? Misty was uncertain, but she knew that she had to keep faith that Shard would somehow rescue her. Ash had not conjured up a clever way to do so, and he obviously could not free the Pokemon. All of her hopes for survival rested upon the blue-haired Rocket, and he could not rescue her if she were dead.  
As though sensing Misty's bright thoughts, Remington was quick to darken them with the blindfold. She was then led through a dizzying series of corridors before Remington finally stopped. She heard a clicking sound, much like the locking and loading of a riffle. Fortunately this sound belonged to a door being unlocked and Remington pushed her inside. Misty stumbled and the Rocket grunted with amusement at her misstep. She clenched her jaw, wishing she could transform into a Scyther and slice his tongue right out!  
Remington removed the blindfold and handcuffs with as much unnecessary roughness as possible. The light struck Misty's eyes like a sudden starburst – flashing, white-hot and intense. Misty rubbed at them, attempting in vain to speed up the adjustment processes. After a moment her eyes were focused once again and Misty scanned her new environment. She was inside an office of sorts, which was very ornate and grand. This was certainly the largest office she had ever seen. Even Ash's Master’s Quarters dwarfed in comparison.   
In front of Misty was a table, it was made from solid Apricorn wood with a marble top. The table could easily sit a dozen people. Toward the rear of the room was a desk, and it also appeared to be carved from Apricorn wood. There was a leather chair behind the desk, but the front was spun away from Misty. Due to the high headrest, she was unsure if it was occupied.   
Misty's sight was now drawn to the walls, all four were painted gold and decorated lavishly. Of particular interest were a set of paintings. Like the artworks in Shard’s laboratory, these were exquisite renditions of Pokemon. Everything from a Persian to a Golem to . . . The Monster. The most grandiose painting was a shrine to chaos and ruin! A flawless reproduction of the terrible monster Pokemon! Misty visibly shuddered, turning to Remington. "Where am I?" she dared, not stifling the offense in her tone.  
Remington’s expression remained neutral. He pointed her toward the desk. "My Boss will speak with you, Miss Waterflower."  
Dread swelled in her throat like infected tonsils. Misty could barely choke out her next words: “Your boss wants to speak with me? Why?"  
Remington lanced her with annoyance. "Do not question his will. Go over to the desk."  
What choice did she have? Misty obeyed. With a Slowpoke's pace she closed the distance between the desk and herself. Her feet felt burdened with a tremendous weight, as though an invisible Geodude clung to each shoe. As she neared the desk, Misty now perceived that someone WAS sitting in the chair. Misty first noticed a Persian’s tail, then she saw a large man’s hand stroking the Pokemon.  
Misty stopped in her tracks, struggling to inhale. The dread swelling within her throat was spreading . . . numbing her finger tips, skyrocketing her heartbeat, causing her palms to go clammy. Mere ‘dread' did not threaten her system, this sensation was ‘panic’. But, why? After all the hell she had suffered, why now was she panicking? Why was her body instinctually reacting — alerting her to be on guard? Why did she feel like a Horsea swimming directly into the layer of Zapdos himself? Was Team Rocket’s boss not just a man? Should she really fear him so deeply . . . or . . . should she instead loath him?   
Instead of allowing panic to cripple her, should Misty not storm him with rage? Why should she feel like the Horsea? Maybe she was the Gyarados about to bite the head off a conniving, evil little Weedle! Did he deserve any less than a punch square to his face?   
Misty's fear began a rapid evolution. A dangerous evolution into raw, seething fury. The kind of fury that forges strength in the moments preceding death. The kind of fury preceding a face-to-face encounter with the devil himself.  
The most unlawfully ‘wanted man’ on the planet was but an arms-length from Misty. The most despised criminal mastermind in the world. Misty hurled Shard's ‘selfish’ warning from her mind, resolving that maybe she could attack this big bad boss? She would just have to do it faster than Remington could draw his gun.  
"Remington, you may leave now.” Ordered his boss and his voice . . . it was not how Misty imagined the devil’s voice to sound. He did not boom or rasp with diabolical lust. Instead Team Rocket's leader spoke with calming command. His tone clear and captivating like an expert Hypno, and no louder than needed to reach Remington's ears.   
Remington complied at once and exited the room. It was not necessary for the Boss to raise his voice to instill obedience in his Rockets.   
"Miss Waterflower, how are you?" He addressed her directly now.  
Misty shivered involuntarily, as though an invisible Ice Beam had encased her limbs. Despite the hot rage burning within her, Misty could not will herself to unthaw.   
As though knowing frostbite had broken her voice, Team Rocket’s Boss did not wait for her to answer. "Please have a seat and get comfortable. There is a chair to the right, Miss.” He sounded like the winner of ‘Gentleman of the year’.  
Misty’s rage boiled over, her brazen Waterflower bravado shattering the ice. “I prefer to stand."  
"Very well then." Like an uncoiling Arbok did the chair twist slowly toward her . . .  
Misty poised herself, head high, fingers curled . . . she was prepared to rip his head off with her bare hands.  
But she was not prepared for. . .  
“Giovanni!" Misty gasped, at once recognizing his face.  
"Hello, Misty.” Giovanni, the Viridian City gym leader, stood up from his chair, the huge Persian leaping from his lap. He smiled at her and gingerly took her hand across the table. "It's been a long time, since the gym leader conference last fall at the plateau, I believe? I trust, until lately, you've been well?"  
Misty yanked her hand from Giovanni's as though he were engulfed in flame. “You?! YOU lead Team Rocket!? All this time? I don't understand!"  
Misty had known Giovanni since she was a child. He was never a close confidant, but she had seen him at gym leader meetings regularly— trusted him— throughout her life. He was a well-respected man in the Pokemon world. A man she and Ash had looked-up to as children. A man they still looked-up to now. How could this have happened? Giovanni was supposed to be one of the ‘good guys’! She had never suspected THIS! Betrayal and horror clashed across her face — inflaming in her mind like a concussion.   
Giovanni continued to smile, satisfaction oozed from him like a pussing sore. "I understand that you are surprised, Misty. Let's just say I lead a double life. We'll leave it at that for now."  
Misty pounded her fists against his desk! She was NOT going to ‘leave it at that’! "But what about Ash? He thinks you are his friend! I thought you were one of us! By Moltres—” Misty's hands flew over her mouth as realization slammed her, “—the monster Pokemon! It killed all of those people and YOU are responsible, Giovanni! YOU!" Misty was shouting now, barely able to restrain from banging his head into the desk top! But, dammit, she wanted answers from him! And she needed his mouth intact in order to get them.  
Giovanni simply nodded, not denying any of her words. "Misty, may I ask you a question?"  
Misty stared at him: Giovanni stood before her with such control, with such dignity, so cordial despite her deafening volume. Giovanni interpreted her silence as confirmation because he went ahead with his query: "It has come to my attention that you and Shard have become close. Would you agree?"  
"What do you mean?" Misty was not following him.  
"Have a seat, Misty, please.” This was not a suggestion. Caught off guard, Misty sat down. Giovani joined her, reclaiming his chair and the Persian helped himself back upon his lap. The cat Pokemon eyed her dully, as though she were a mere peon and unworthy of his trainer’s presence.   
“Misty, dear,” Giovanni began so simply, with her name. His tone soothed like an audible icepack upon her burning confusion. "I know that Shard left the brig last night to visit you. I also know he gave you his Vaporeon and you carry the beast in your pocket now. I supposed it gives you both some false sense of security. That Pokemon is hardly a threat or concern, so don’t fret, I won’t be confiscating him. Shard has been quite the self-appointed guardian to you. And that leads me to ask: how do you feel about him?”  
Misty’s hand protectively pressed against Sam’s Pokeball inside her hoodie. She inhaled sharply, knowing that Giovanni would talk her into a corner if she wasn't careful. "Then you also must know that Glare and Remington have been trying to kill him. They sent an assassin after him last night."  
"Of course, I do.” Giovanni replied matter-of-factly, as though Misty just had told him that Pikachus were yellow. "And we will discuss that concern shortly. But you, my dear, are deviating from the current topic. I asked you a question, a reply is needed."  
Her gaze flickered from his probing dark eyes. It was beyond uncomfortable to have Giovanni – the Team Rocket Boss– inquiring upon her feelings for one of his Rockets. What could her answer possibly matter anyway? Why did he care? Misty resolved to meet his sight with challenge, deciding that she would verbally springboard a while more.  
"I also have a question for you, Giovanni, about Shard.” Giovanni tilted his head to the side, encouraging her to go on. "Is Shard really Gary Oak?"  
The smug grin now slid from Giovanni's lips and his fingers frisked tediously through his Persian's fur. "Misty, I find it interesting that you would ask me that question."  
"I find it equally interesting that you would want to know how I feel about him."  
Giovanni's intrigued stare fixed upon her and Misty met him head-on. Their visions merging like two raging Tauros about to lock horns. But Giovanni held her potent stare with ease. Misty could not disarm him verbally or intimidate him.   
The smile reappeared upon Giovanni's lips, but it was not smug, it was amused. "My dear, your lack of an answer has actually given me one. I know the answer to my question."  
"Funny, I could say the same to you." Misty’s palms were slick with sweat, she was trying to match wits with a mastermind and it was exhausting. His ever-calm words struck her like a tidal wave. That confident smirk a whirlpool – tossing her best defenses about, pulling her down. She was trapped in Giovanni's ocean now, and nothing that surfaced here would help her to best him. She clung to what little knowledge she had, struggling to stay afloat, she did not want him to drown her. She had to seize ahold of her logic and swim! Giovanni did not deny her question as to Shard's identity. In fact, he did not even bat an eyelash. Her acquisition did not surprise him in the least. That meant. . .  
Misty was thrown a small raft. “Shard really is . . . Gary Oak. I knew it. But how can that be? He died, fell off a cliff!"  
"Jumped actually. He jumped off a cliff, not fell.” Giovanni corrected. "Misty, I am going to tell you a story. And I would very much appreciate it if you would sit quietly, refraining from questions, until my story is complete. Can you do that?"  
Misty hesitated, her lips trembling to hold back words, however . . . there was something in Giovanni's gaze that settled her. Something which urged her to comply. Misty had a feeling that Giovanni's 'story' WAS important— that it was somehow important for Shard.  
Misty nodded agreeing to his terms.  
”Good girl." Giovanni shut his eyes. It seemed to Misty a long time had passed before he opened them again. Then he exhaled in a manner that seemed final. A manner that relayed the importance of his words to follow.  
"Many years ago, when I was a much younger man than I am today, I fell in love with a woman. Her name was Wendy. And like everything I covet, she was beautiful. Not a woman alive could rival Wendy. She had brown hair like Eevee fur and eyes bluer than that Vaporeon in your pocket. She was something, I tell you, and my heart did not stand a chance.'  
"I met her first at a gala. Wendy was there with her family, a father, a husband and an infant daughter. Yes, Wendy was married. Married to a very important business man. I was convinced she was married to the wrong man. His name was Nicholas. Nicholas was wealthy and charismatic, but busy. He traveled the world overseeing his work. Wendy and her baby daughter were left alone nearly six months out of the year. She cared for her husband, but she was lonely. I could tell right away, eyes so lovely should never have been so sad. That night, at the gala, I felt as though I had succumbed to the love spell of a Jynx. It was an incredible feeling, though I admit unnerving. I had enjoyed the pleasures of many women in my time, but I was certainly not the love-struck type, hardly, in fact.’  
"Nicholas left Wendy during that gala. He had to catch a flight overseas. It was for business. Wendy understood. After all, she enjoyed a lavish lifestyle off his mighty dollar. However his leaving that night left her feeling especially lost. I watched as she handed her daughter off to her father and went to the bar. Wendy needed to drink her sorrows away. I could not stand by and watch such a lovely woman suffer. So, I went to her, I bought her a drink and gave her my ear . . . as well as my heart. We became involved in a secret affair. I suppose I should have been use to living the double life, perhaps our sneaking around should have been natural for me . . . and at first it was. At first I vowed not to invest myself deeply in this woman. No matter how intense our affair, Wendy had no plans to ever leave her husband. This she was upfront about. She would not split up her family, for her daughter’s sake. And she professed to still love her husband, despite his faults. But it was too late for me by then, I had accidentally fallen in love with her. Truly. Deeply in love. Wendy, the first and last woman who has ever gotten to me.'  
"Our affair continued for nearly two years, wholly unbeknownst to her husband. She kept that secret from him and, in turn, I kept Team Rocket a secret from her. Wendy was from an upstanding family, very law-conscious, she would not have approved of my real profession. I suspected that she might even turn me in to the authorities if she knew. Therefore, I let her believe I was only a gym leader. It was a respectable job she could admire.'  
"But then, it so happened, one day Wendy came to my gym in tears. Misty, they say that ‘all good things must come to and end’, and you know what? The ominous 'they' are correct. Wendy wept for she was pregnant. Three months along and her husband had only been back in town for two. She told me she was planning to stay with her husband. She would tell Nicholas that she was only two months along and that she was carrying his baby. She begged me to let her go, to let her live ‘happily ever after’ with her husband. To let Nicholas blindly raise my child with her. She was panicking, half of her words mere gibberish. I was about to make her sit down, to calm down, to talk this through with me, when suddenly two of my Rocket grunts entered my gym.'  
"The grunts . . . they were absolute fools! Rushing to me in some frenzy, addressing ME as THEIR ‘BOSS’ and oblivious to the fact that Wendy was even in the room. The look on Wendy's face . . . it haunts me still. Horror. Realization. Betrayal. Wendy now knew who I truly was. She was familiar with my crimes as Team Rocket was infamous even back then. She cursed me, swearing that if I told her husband about the baby she would tell the police who I really was. Then she fled, pushing through my Rockets before I could stop her.'  
"Our love had started out as a one lie and become a series of them. Wendy and I were blackmailing one another. And all along, I still loved her. All along I believed that she still loved me too. I was a fool, Misty. A fool for the first and last time.'  
"Wendy came from a famous family and word of her new pregnancy spread across the media like a Flamethrower Attack on dry grass. I learned that she and Nicholas had decided to keep their family together. His business would no longer separate them now that they had two children. Wendy moved with Nicolas across the globe. I knew why she fled from me, she feared our child would become a criminal if raised by my hand. And in that respect, she was right to fear. I will not deny it. But, my darling Wendy, she was now the fool to think I would simply give up my only offspring, my only flesh and blood. She was terribly mistaken.'  
"Four years after my son was born, I had her killed. Wendy and Nicholas both. They were in a terrible car accident. The police suspected Nicholas was drinking behind the wheel. And, as I had suspected, Wendy's children were sent to live with and be raised by her father. This was splendid to me for Wendy's father was an exceptional man: intelligent, wealthy and adored his grandchildren. Wendy had to go, she would have raised my son with malice toward the Rockets. She would have poisoned him against me. I knew that her father would raise my son best, even better than I could. I was a busy man and hardly interested in potty training. I did not have time to teach ABC's. I knew that I could trust the old man to do right by my son, at least until he was old enough for me to claim him. To take him. Misty—“ Giovanni said her name very slowly, seizing every last ounce of her attention. “—Wendy's father was Professor Samuel Oak."  
Giovanni just stared at her now, expressionless. He sealed his lips, bowed his head, and allowed her silence . . .  
Silence to process his mammoth confession.  
Misty's mouth dropped open, but no words would come. Her mind was spinning like an emotional tornado, whirling and tossing his words about in her head! She replayed Giovanni's final sentence in her mind until she finally comprehend it.  
Wendy's father was Professor Samuel Oak.  
Misty faced Team Rocket’s Boss with one question: "Does Shard know?"  
“No." Giovanni was quick to answer. "No one does. You are the ONLY living person to know this."  
"But how did he get here? To you? To Team Rocket? Gary Oak, he . . . he killed himself.”  
"Of course, you are supposed to think that.” Giovanni paused, he seemed to be mulling over his next words, as though unsure if he should admit something. But apparently he figured Pandora's Box was already open and went on: "I have faked the deaths of many people, but never so well as the death of my own son. Gary's ‘death’ was done without flaw."  
"What do you mean? Gary Oak faked his own death? You helped him?”  
"No. Gary Oak did intend to die. He was chronically depressed, I made certain of that. I saw to it that he became depressed. You see, Misty, Shard – Gary Oak- is my son, he is strong. He is no weakling, no frail character. He would never, under ordinary circumstances, quit on life. He would never give up when the going got tough. I do not reproduce weaklings. Therefore, I had to make him depressed. Gary was raised by Samuel Oak, a man of morals. Gary would never have considered joining Team Rocket on his own accord. He was following in the old man’s footsteps, becoming a promising researcher. He had everything to live for and a golden, noble conscience. I had to make him think his life was worthless, that his existence was deplorable, make him desperate enough to take any new life offered to him. Desperate for escape.”  
"But how? Why? I don’t understand. How could you do that to your own son?"  
"Because he IS my son. MY SON. He belongs to me and with me. I had my scientists create a depressant drug. I won't dull you with the pharmaceutical details, but understand that it is very powerful. The drug hones in on one’s weaknesses and insecurities and magnifies them, putting these weaknesses at the incessant forefront of the victim’s thoughts. I tested the drug for months on some of my prisoners, and even on some Rocket grunts. Individuals who seemed, generally, very pleasant and strong-willed. In each test the individual attempted suicide within three months of exposure to the drug. I began having Gary Oak trailed and observed twenty-four hours a day. The drugs were given to him as he slept at night, dissolved completely in his mouth with zero aftertaste. Even at age fifteen Gary proved to be strong just like his father—” Giovanni paused to smirk with pride. “—it took five months for the drugs to wear Gary down. Finally he made his move and took a leap off the Pallet Cliffs. As we had been monitoring him constantly, we were able to act on time, though he did nearly drown before my diver got a hold of him—”  
Misty cut him off: "So there are others in Team Rocket who know about Shard's identity then? This diver and the ones who stalked him and monitored him?"  
"No. I had them all disposed of once my son was returned to me. I could not risk anyone knowing that Shard was my son. Telling anyone would have been like signing his death warrant. My enemies are numerous on the outside. And even within. Others, like Glare and Remington, would have killed him long ago. My son would have been an automatic heir, meaning, automatically killed. I made Gary Oak think that we found him washed up on a riverbed. And then I offered him a new life – free from his ghosts and shadows of the past. A new life where, if he worked hard, he could become very successful. At the time Gary was, of course, depressed beyond comprehension and desperate enough to accept my offer. He chose his new identity and opted to wear his mask at all times. He would risk no one recognizing Gary Oak. And so Gary became Shard the Rocket. I started him off at the bottom. He was a grunt with a new outlook on life. He was given the tasks all grunts are: trash removal, Pokemon care and occasional petty theft. Shard needed to be seen as ‘one of them’ to the other Rockets. An equal. Shard needed to gain their respect and climb the ranks on his own. If he failed, then he failed. But I did not believe that he would. And he has not. My son is utterly brilliant. He has made this company a lot of money and has earned the admiration of the board with no help from me. The Rockets here revere him, he will make a powerful successor for this company."  
"But Glare and the others are trying to kill him! Your own son! Since you know that Shard broke free from the brig last night, you must also know that Glare tried to have him murdered by an assassin."  
"Of course I know that."  
"Shard could have been killed!"  
"Bah!" Giovanni shook his head with irritation. "My son? Killed by a common assassin? Hardly, my dear. Had Shard actually fallen he would have proven himself entirely unworthy of the work I have put into him. Yes, Misty, I knew about the assassin. And, to make certain that my son would not fall, I saw to it that he was warned before even setting foot in that brig. I also left him unfrisked and armed with a weapon."  
"But Glare is not going to stop until he's dead!"  
"Don't you worry about Glare, or, should I ask you not to worry about Shard? Hm, I wonder if THAT might be too difficult for you?"  
Misty narrowed her eyes into slits. "What are you getting at, Giovanni? Why are you telling me all of this?"  
He stroked his Persian intensely, that confident grin spreading his lips. “I saw the video surveillance from yesterday. I know that you protected Shard from Remington by releasing his Blastoise. I saw how you removed his mask and tended his abrasions. Why would you do that for him? More so I saw the way you looked at him. I know that he covered for you and took his detainment in the brig to protect you. He put his entire career on the line, before my board, to shield you. He also dodged security cameras like minefields just to check on you. As I mentioned before, I know he gave you that Vaporeon. He did not want to leave you defenseless. Please tell me, why would he do that for you?” Giovanni took a steady breath and looked her straight in the eyes. “Misty, I am going to make you an extremely generous offer, are you ready?"  
Misty nodded, unsure of what else to do. She was never speechless . . . until now.  
"I am willing to fake your death. With the world believing you are gone, you may stay here, with Shard, and rule Team Rocket at his side. You will be wealthy beyond comprehension and more powerful than any other woman alive. But best, you will have my son. What do you say to that?"  
Had a Raichu just Thunder Punched her, Misty could not have been more shocked! "I. . ." Misty slowly shook her head. "I. . . I could never do that to Ash."  
"Ah, but you hesitated just now. Are you quite sure? It would be for best. Shard has obviously grown quite fond of you and you of him. I'm afraid his interest in you has caused him to grow a defiant streak. Defiance from my son is not acceptable, and I will not stand by and watch his heart be ransacked. That would destroy him, break his concentration . . . he would never be the same man again. Shard needs to be flawless —moving and thinking perfection at ALL times. If his concentration breaks again the board will not be supportive of him as my heir. I believe that having you promised, safe at his side, will be all the push Shard requires to fulfill his destiny and lead Team Rocket."  
"No! I can't just let Ash think I'm DEAD!" Misty held up her left hand, blatantly showing Giovanni her engagement ring. "I made a promise to Ash. I promised to marry him, Giovanni. Please."  
Giovanni frowned thoughtfully. “You made a promise to Ash. Yes, I understand your feeling of obligation, and I admire your steadfast resolve to honor that obligation. But at no point have you countered your unwillingness to consider my offer because you lack romantic feelings or attraction to my son.”  
“I love Ash, dammit. I’m going to marry him.”  
“Hm, that is a shame. Well, my dear, I tried. Your denial will be your demise. I will apologize now then. You understand that you will have to die. After all, I did just share confidential information with you. You also understand that Shard can never know that he is my son. That knowledge would be a death sentence for him. I am going to trust that your feelings for him will keep your lips sealed on the matter. If I find out you told him, or anyone, I’ll be forced to kill him, too. It’s better I put him down humanly than Glare, anyway. If you really are falling in love with him, you’ll stay silent to save him. There are only two living beings that I truly love on this cold, hard planet, Misty. One is my Pokemon, the monster you truly fear. The other is my son, the young man that you are truly falling in love with." Giovanni stood and held her gaze a moment more.  
"Love? I can't possibly be falling in love with Shard! I just met him! Well, just reacquainted with him, anyway. That’s absurd.”  
"Misty, another word of advice from the ominous they: they say it is when you are not looking for love that love finds you. Marrying one man when you are falling for another . . . trust me, my dear, it always ends badly, and for all three parties.” Giovanni huffed. "A shame your other obligations will keep you from experiencing a happy life, or for that matter, any life at all." Giovanni turned his attention from Misty as though she were a leper. He pressed a small buzzer on his desk. "Remington, please enter. Take Miss Waterflower back to her room."  
In a moment Remington entered and was at Misty's side. He again handcuffed and blindfolded her.  
Giovanni did not need to remind Misty to be silent around Remington. Giovanni’s threat against Shard had verbally strangled her. Misty would not dare breathe a word of her cursed knowledge. She would not risk any harm to Shard . . . her heart could not endure it.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
This was an all too familiar scene for Misty: she sat on the bed in Team Rocket’s prison room with Sam cuddling upon her lap.  
Remington had brought her back a short while ago. Misty was not sure when, perhaps a few hours? It hardly mattered anymore. Seconds thawed into minutes which dissolved within hours which melted her days into a scatter of strange memories. They all seemed to span the same endless moment, the same warped reality. The sun could neither rise or set in this world. Misty began to wonder if this entire experience was naught but an extraordinary nightmare? If she concentrated hard enough, could she will herself to awaken? Would she open her eyes to find Ash sleeping next to her? Were all of these strange characters figments of her imagination? Was Shard?  
Misty's breath caught in her throat.  
The idea that Shard could not be real, that he could vanish with her conciseness . . .   
If this were a dream then Misty would find a way to cling to Shard and pull him out with her. She could NOT leave him here. Alone. She had to save him. Misty could no longer imagine her life without him in it . . . it did not matter who he really was. Gary Oak may have just been a childhood acquaintance, but Shard, he meant everything. Helping him meant everything. And if he was not real, then that meant this feeling within her heart was a lie, and, it was too wonderful and too frightening and too intense a feeling to be denied.  
Shard could NOT be a dream.  
Misty was actually relieved when her stomach began to grumble. She was certain one did not experience psychical hunger in a dream.   
Misty thought about Remington, Shard's wanna-be killer. The Rocket had been silent the entire walk from Giovanni's office to Misty's room. But once inside the room he had spoken: ‘Tonight is the night. The Pokemon Master just made contact. He’s ready to make the swap. For real this time.’ And that was it. He ripped off her blindfold, detached her cuffs and was gone.  
Misty was struggling to sift through Remington's words. She heard them, but they failed to make her feel anything. Misty no longer knew how to feel, and the more she tried to analyze how she should or should not be feeling, the more she began to feel numb. Satisfyingly numb. Her brain was slowing . . . tingling . . . freezing, like fingers left ungloved in a blizzard. Misty did not even fear the inevitable anymore, in fact, she was anxious for it. For this all to END, one way or another. She could not stand to go on as a captive, a pawn in everyone’s sick, twisted games.  
Was she losing her mind? Had Giovanni found a way to crack her?  
Misty knew that the Rockets were going to kill her. Giovanni himself told her so. She just prayed that Ash was not actually going to trade her for the Pokemon. But at this point, that hardly mattered either.   
If Ash planned to meet with Team Rocket tonight, then that meant Misty was going to die tonight. A short burst of heat returned to her senses . . . Ash . . . Misty hoped that she would get to see him one last time. If even at a distance, she needed to see him. Misty loved Ash. She had always loved Ash and she was ready to die for his greater good. She only hoped that he would understand that. And, Misty also hoped that Team Rocket was not planning to kill her in front of him. Ash could not endure that. It would destroy him on the spot. He was sweet and sensitive and the thought of this terrified her more than any bullet. If she had to, she would choke on her pride and beg Team Rocket. She would get down on her hands and knees and beg them. Please don't kill me in front of him. PLEASE.  
The devil had offered to buy her soul and Misty had refused. But, she wondered now if she had made the right choice? Had she accepted Giovanni's offer – to fake her death—she would have been very selfish. Living here and all the while Ash believing her dead. No, that was an unbearable thought! She could not –WOULD NOT—be able to live a lie like that. She could NEVER hurt Ash like that. But being unable to live a lie meant not living at all.  
Giovanni might as well have asked her: would you rather burn in flames or be stabbed a dozen times? There was no possible good choice, no pleasant outcome.  
Giovanni . . . his story stuck like a barbed thorn, Misty could not get it out of her head. His words haunted her, his tale of loving Shard's mother. Killing her!Causing his own son catastrophic depression to the point of suicide. Gary Oak was Shard. Shard was Gary Oak. It seemed impossible and yet unbearably obvious at the same time. He had been before her eyes all along, helping her to the best of his ability. He must have remembered Misty from their childhood. He had tormented Ash something awful once, but the two boys later became friendly. The part of him that was still Gary Oak could not hurt her — Ash’s loyal juvenile sidekick and now fiancee. The initial reasons that motivated Shard to protect her no longer mattered, nor did Gary Oak himself. Shard was the one who helped her. Shard was the one who . . .  
Shard. If that word implied a broken fragment then why did it make her feel whole?  
Shard was incredibly distraught when Misty had last seen him. He was battling with his conscience. Unable to balance the good human and the bad killer. Now Misty understood why. Shard never chose this life, it had been chosen for him by his father, the criminal architect. A man who would twist anything – even his own son—to see his will served.  
Giovanni made her sick. When Shard had left Misty his psyche was berating him, his morals striking him down. He did not at all sound the confident Shard that she had come to know. Misty thought about Shard’s final instructions again, urging her to become ‘selfish’. Why had he had told her to let him be the selfless one? This word puzzle had been on her mind since. Misty wanted to follow his words exactly, but she did not know how. Misty did not know what Shard had meant, but he seemed to imply that she may have a chance of survival – but only if she became selfish. But the only way she would be able to try and help him – to convince him to LEAVE this place – was if she could stay alive!  
Misty cussed loudly, accidentally making Sam jump. Not knowing what else to do, Misty stood up. She tossed Sam a handful of snack crackers (that Shard had placed in the tote bag with the Sweel magazine), and then left him to munch in peace while she headed into the bathroom. Misty wanted a shower. She could not stand to sit idly on that bed another moment.   
If these were to be her final hours, then Misty wanted to feel water around her one more time. She shed her clothing and selected a bathrobe from the pile of attire Shard had provided for her. She would slip into that robe after her shower, it looked quite comfortable and Misty was determined to spend her final hours in as much comfort as possible.  
Stepping within that shower was like stepping within a waterfall of solace. Misty brushed her teeth and then lathered up her face, her body, and her hair with rose-scented soap and shampoo. The warm vapors embraced every centimeter of skin. Misty cranked up the heat, hoping that she could drain Giovanni's hot water bill. She released a weary sigh and closed her eyes. The droplets pulsated against her face like tiny liquid fingers, massaging every pore. The water felt incredible, she loved how it cascaded down her bare back. . .  
Her mind also began to cascade . . . Misty recalled a morning, not long ago, when Ash had joined her for her morning shower. Misty smiled at the memory. Neither one of them did much scrubbing . . . she doubted she'd even had the chance to pick up her shampoo. Ash had given her a slow back massage, his lips nibbled her ears, he whispered her name. He told Misty how much he had been yearning for her. Misty could almost feel Ash's hot lips against her throat, she could almost feel his hands as they strayed down, beyond her shoulders . . . Misty turned around to face Ash, to kiss him. . .  
But Ash was not staring back at her. It was Shard. The Rocket’s handsome face was before her. It was Shard, not Ash, who held her naked body. It was Shard, not Ash, who breathed hotly in her ear . . .  
Misty gasped, forcing her eyes open and her imagination shut. She blushed furiously! Half of her face glowing red-hot from shame while the other half burned with another emotion. An emotion that Misty dared not name.   
Misty swore inwardly. This is Giovanni's fault. I just know it is. He put these ideas in my head! She felt somewhat better blaming her almost-erotic fantasy on him. Though, a part of her wondered if it had anything to do with Giovanni at all.   
Damn me! Misty berated herself, scratching her knuckles against the shower wall. I suppose there's no use in guilting myself, I may be dead before tomorrow. If my imagination wants to stray, why should I deny myself? This time tomorrow I may not have an imagination anymore. I won't even be here . . . unless Shard can find a way to —  
In the main room, Misty heard the electronic door beeping open. It was an unmistakable sound. She choked back a cry of alarm! What if it were Remington or Glare? What if it was time to go?   
Misty jumped from the shower and struggled into her robe. Her hair was sopping wet and water drizzled down her face, her body, puddling beneath her on on the floor. Whoever the culprit was, he or she had not knocked on the bathroom door or –thankfully — barged in. But that meant that one of those horrid Rockets was waiting for her on the other side of the door.   
But Sam was not barking. Was he okay?   
Misty braced herself, her fingers gripping the door handle. She held her breath and exited the bathroom. Sitting on the bed, snuggling with Sam was . . .  
“Shard!" Misty's wet bare feet nearly slipped as she rushed toward him.  
Shard looked up at her, his masked face dejected. He did not stand when she approached him. "What's going on, Shard?"  
He seemed to peer right through her. "My brig sentence is over. The Boss advised me to keep my distance from you, but it wasn’t an order.”   
"But you came anyway?"  
Shard flinched as though her question physically pained him. "Of course I did.”  
“You won’t get in trouble for visiting me?"  
Shard stood now and Misty looked up. In her bare feet and he in his tactical boots, Misty’s head barely reached his shoulders. Shard reached forward and took her hand in his, a tentative smile tugging on his lips. “No, I won’t get in trouble. But even if I did, you’re worth it." He squeezed her hand.   
Misty stared at her bare hand resting in his gloved one. Her hand looked so tiny, almost like a child's within is large strong one.   
Misty’s pulse quickened as a blush stained her checks, her neckline, her chest and —Moltres-knows-- where else. Maybe the legendary fire bird was somehow puffing steam upon her skin? How else could Misty account for her sudden rise in body temperature? Squelching her nonsensical inner ‘blush-shaming’, Misty simply allowed the searing heat to overwhelm her bloodstream. She was soaking wet, clothed only in a robe within a cold room, and yet no part of her felt cool. Misty did not pull away from Shard’s hand. Instead she moved closer to him. She allowed her sight to thoroughly search his masked face. Misty wanted to remember every detail of him . . . by the legendaries, he was striking. Misty would carry Shard’s image to her grave.   
“Shard, the trade is happening tonight.” Misty barely recognized her voice as her own, she was unexplainably breathless.   
"I know.” In contrast, Shard’s voice was firm, calm and unsurprised by her grave words. With his other hand, Shard brushed a damp tendril of hair from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. Misty failed to suppress a shiver as his glove grazed her temple. His mere presence seemed able to sway her internal temperature controls. “Don't worry, Misty. Everything is going to be okay."  
"How can you say that? How can you be so sure?"  
"I'll be there with you. I'm not going to let anyone else harm you."  
"But your boss . . . he brought me into his office earlier . . . he. . ." she hesitated, knowing Giovanni had surveillance on this room. The knowledge that the vile man had poured into her mind was too dangerous to utter out loud. If Giovanni had the woman he ‘loved’ murdered, then she had no doubt he would kill his own son, too. And even if there were a way to secretly confess the awful truth to Shard, this was not the time to tell him. What if this new knowledge – that Giovanni was his father — sent Shard over the edge? Misty winced, selfishly she needed his brilliant mind operating at top condition in order to save her. And if his mind crumpled, then Misty would not be able to save Shard either.  
Shard had told Misty that she needed to be selfish to get out of here. Misty inwardly vowed that she would tell him later, assuming they both survived the night.  
But . . . there was one secret that Misty had discovered without Giovanni's help. One secret she was not forced into swallowing. Misty fixed her sight upon Shard, gathered her courage and asked him: "Shard, please take your mask off."  
He tilted his head, just like Sam did when trying to figure out her words. "Why?"  
"Please, just do it." Misty needed to see Gary Oak for herself. It was suddenly critical for Misty. She needed to be certain — beyond Giovanni's story, beyond her own speculations -– she needed to know.  
Shard shrugged and nodded. Without further question he peeled the adhesive mask from his face. The fabric fell from Shard's eyes and his face was revealed, naked and beautiful before her.   
It was unmistakable now.  
His eyes . . . they were stunning, like twin pools reflecting trust and affection upon her. Misty longed to loose herself in his sight and to submerge within their depths. If she had to go down, then drowning in Shard's eyes would be her chosen execution. She did know this face. He was so handsome, as he always had been. The past ten years only matured his boyish good-looks into an incredibly gorgeous man.  
Regret stung Misty now. Why had she never gotten to know Gary Oak back then? He was obviously in great need of a friend. But in those days she, quite frankly, could not stand egotistical Gary Oak. And now she could not stand to be away from the man he had evolved into.  
"Gary Oak." The name burst from her mouth, striking Shard like an invisible sucker punch. Shard flinched, mouth agape, eyes wide! He dropped her hand like a scalding Charizard Egg.   
“Why did you call me that?" His voice was hushed, laced in angst, as though that sucker punch had struck his heart. Shard’s eyes darted toward the door . . . was he going to run from the truth?!  
Misty reached upward and seized his shoulders. She used all of her strength to hold him in place. She would not allow Shard to flee. "I figured it out for myself and then your boss confirmed it."  
Shard’s completion went pale, the color drained from his face as though he were bleeding internally from that punch. He took a step away from her, but Misty held on with startling strength! Shard must have realized that she would be a trial to shake free and he stilled, remaining in place. Sam was now pacing around them in circles, whining nervously.  
”I don't understand why my Boss would share that information with you.”  
Misty had to strain to hear him. Was he whispering due to the fear of surveillance or because he could not muster any more volume? Regardless, Misty could not stand to see him suffer.   
Shard shook his head, continuing quietly: "This is Code One classified. My Boss and I are they only ones who – who—" Shard closed his eyes, his face wrought with confusion. "No matter, it doesn't even matter. I trust you’ll not repeat that information?"  
"Of course not. But, Shard, it DOES matter. We all thought you were dead!"  
"Gary Oak is dead!” He snapped. "He died more than ten years ago, okay? Do not use that name again. It is as forbidden to speak as our Boss's name."  
Misty's brow furrowed and she gripped Shard's shoulders tighter! Channeling her inner Machamp, she shook him! "Giovanni? Don't tell me I can't say his name! That bastard! Giovanni, Giovanni, GIOVANNI!"  
Shard peeled her hands from his shoulders now, wincing. Next he pressed a firm finger to her lips. "That is a dangerous name. I understand that you hate him, but he did help me once, saved my life and gave me purpose . . .” Shard hesitated, his sight fluttering downward.  
"Go on.” Misty wanted to hear what he was thinking. She NEEDED him to finish his sentence. "Shard, please."  
He met her eyes, and it was Misty’s turn to wince. Despair assaulted her morale more harshly than any physical blow could. "If you thought I was dead then you also know how I died. I killed myself. I was fifteen years old and I was weak, Misty.” Shard's breath hitched in his throat, his eyes blinking back a surge of emotion. Misty’s hands reclaimed his shoulders and she rubbed them, supporting him to go on. "I wanted to die. I wanted it all to just end . . .” his voice now expired upon his lips. Elite Rocket Shard was shattering before Misty. His icy façade was melting again, and this time, Misty WOULD catch every drop as it slipped away. Her hands slid from his shoulders and down his arms until she found his fingers, and she intertwined them with her own. Shard seemed to gain strength from her touch and his expression steadied along with his voice.   
Once an iceberg melts it can never be an iceberg again. Parts may freeze, but it will never take the same form, it will never be as whole as it once was.  
"Misty, when I jumped off that cliff-side, I had every intention of dying. I hope you never know what it feels like to want to die, to yearn for it. To yearn for an end so deeply that you would do something like I did. I remember it perfectly, I just kissed my Pokeballs goodbye and I jumped. No second thoughts. I remember falling, feeling no fear, just falling. And then the cold. I hit the water, it was freezing, but I didn't fight it. I just let it take me. The current pulled me under. I breathed it in. I could feel water inside my lungs, suffocating me and then my world went black. When I woke up I knew that something had gone wrong, I wasn't dead. Much to my extreme disappointment. I was in a room with one other person. It was the Boss. He offered me freedom from my old life. The life where I was nothing but a failure. The life where I would never be the man my parents had hoped I would be, never be the scientist my grandfather wanted me to be. The life where I could not achieve my dreams, where I was a burden. Team Rocket sounded like something I could disappear inside. Be reborn. A second chance. I could dump out all of my anger, my pain, and no one would judge me for it. The Boss presented my options: either join the company or he would kill me then and there, he held a gun to prove it. I don't know what changed in me at that moment, why a boy so anxious for death was now turning it away? But I did turn it away. I was intrigued for the first time in so long. I accepted the Boss's offer. I didn’t know then that I was selling my soul."  
When had Misty started crying? She did not know. But as Shard finished his story her face was wet from tears. She felt the tears, rolling sorrowfully down her face like liquid embers. Her breathing had become a series of choked sobs. Her chest aching for this man.  
Shard breathed quietly in contrast. He seemed relieved to have finally unloaded this burdensome secret. In this fleeting instant he could be himself again. Be the innocent boy he once was so long ago.  
Misty could not share in his relief. The tears would not release her, no matter how hard she fought them back. Shard gently took her face in his hands. "Misty, don't cry.” His voice was as tender as his touch. And this tenderness caused her to weep with more fervor. Misty could not stop, she felt possessed by raw grief. Misty cried because she knew the truth – the real truth — about Shard, but could not tell him. She cried because her heart ached for him — because a part of her ached to be with him — but Misty knew that could never be. She cried because she loved Ash. She cried because she should love Ash so much that feelings like this — for another man — should never have even surfaced. She cried because she knew – one way or another – she would soon never see Shard again. Misty cried because she had wanted to help Shard and now — by keeping the truth from him —- she was no better than Giovanni himself. And then she cried harder.  
“Misty . . .” Shard held her gaze with his eyes, his hands unwavering from her face. “. . .I need you."   
Misty shivered at Shard’s sudden words, unsure of their meaning . . . unsure whether or not she had even heard him correctly, but desperately hoping she had.   
"What I mean is, Misty, I need you to show me how to be good again. To be myself again. A good man. I’m a better person than this, I know I am. You make wanna fight like hell to be better." Shard's fingers grazed her lips, even through the gloves his body heat permeated her skin. “I don’t want to steal, I don’t want to kill. Before this life, I never wanted to hurt anyone. I wasn’t capable of it. You were right, I’m trapped in here. I want to leave this place, this life, behind me. And I want you to come with me. I'll leave Team Rocket for you, with you. I’m falling for you, Misty. I tried not to — I swear to Zapdos! — I tried to fight this attraction to you, these feelings for you, with everything I have. But we’ve already established that I’m weak. Far weaker than you are. You make me feel alive again for the first time since I was a kid. If we leave, we'll have to become dead to the world. Team Rocket will never stop searching for me. And I won't go to the police, they’ll put me on death row. But I'm on death row if I stay here anyway. Ironically, I have zero interest in dying. Please say you’ll run away with me and I’ll promise to keep us safe.” Shard’s eyes were hopeful, they shone with innocent dreams. It was a pure sort of hope, the sort born from a soul who had not dared to hope in a long, long time.  
Misty could hardly believe what Shard had just said to her, offered her! He wanted to run away with her? He wanted her to leave with him? He had developed feelings for her? Misty’s chest clenched, it heaved! Misty’s very heart was screaming, but she deafened herself to its call. Misty had to because a part of her –- a very sincere part of her — wanted to say yes.   
But Misty did not say yes. She could not.   
There was no way that she could up and leave Ash for Shard— the newly-not-dead Gary Oak! She barely knew Shard . . . yet, she wondered if she now knew more about him than he did about himself?   
Shard was correct, Misty was strong. And she prayed that she was strong enough to say what she had to say. Misty met Shard's radiant eyes and— though it damm-well butchered her heart— she knew that she would have to extinguish that beautiful hope.   
"Shard. . . I can't do that . . . to . . . Ash."  
Shard's eyes went immediately dim— a solar eclipse consumed his vision. He nodded, looking momentarily embarrassed, but not at all surprised by her answer. "Of course.” He smiled timidly at Misty and a blush tinted his cheeks. "I don't know what came over me, Misty, I'm sorry. I have a permanent target on my back, it wouldn't be safe for you anyway. It was selfish and stupid of me to ask. You're engaged to the Pokemon Master, you have everything to live for.” Shard exhaled thoughtfully, his brow creasing as his calculating mind worked at Rapidash-speeds. "I will help you escape so you can live your life with Ketchum. You don’t deserve any of the hell we’ve put you through here. I’ve made my own shitty bed and I’ll lay in it. It was wrong of me to ask you to lay beside me, or to even think that you would want to. I apologize for misinterpreting your feelings for me as something romantic. I hope you can forgive me.”  
Misty felt tears in her eyes again. Shard was misunderstanding! No, she would not leave Ash. And, no, she would not run away with him. But ‘no’, did not mean that. . .   
“Shard, I wish that I could disappear with you. A part of me is so very tempted . . .so much so that it’s breaking my heart. I wish I could make you understand how conflicted I feel.”   
Shard did not ask her to elaborate, he simply spoke her name: “Misty.” And then he smiled the sweetest, saddest little smile. It was as though he cherished the way her name felt and sounded upon his lips. . . even as it faded away.  
“Yes, Shard?"  
"I have to go now."  
Misty had been hoping he would say something else, ask her again to flee with him. She was not sure she had the strength to say ‘no’ to him twice. But Shard did not ask her again, he would not do that to her or to himself.  
"Remington will be coming for you in a few hours. But I'll be with him when he does, don't worry, Misty."  
“How can I not worry?” The reality of this moment bombard Misty like a Blizzard attack. Her time alone with this man — one way or another — was now ending.   
“Leave everything up to me. I WILL be there with you. I'll make certain you get out alive."  
"Thank you, Shard." Misty did not know how he could possibly make that promise, but she believed him. She had to.  
"Misty?"  
"Yes, Shard?"  
"I don't think that I will see you again after tonight."  
". . . I know," her voice broke, and a new rush of tears devastated her face.  
"Dry your tears, Misty."  
"I can't."  
"No?" His voice was light and endearing, causing her heart to beat faster. "Well, fortunately, I'm here to dry them for you." Shard cupped her face in his hands again, his thumbs gently rubbing her cheeks, smoothing away her sorrow.  
"But what happens when you're not here?"  
Shard's hands slid from Misty’s face to her shoulders, and his fingers gripped her as though she were the most precious being in the entire world. Shard had the hands of a thief, but when he held her, Misty felt more sacred than any rare gem. He clutched her body and Misty trembled. She could feel his devotion, his passion, his tender longing for her through his touch alone. Shard adored her and feared her . . . she was his forbidden treasure. And in this moment Misty realized that Shard would protect her. Fight for her . . . even . . . truly die for her.  
Misty looked at Shard now . . . and she realized something else . . .  
He was her forbidden treasure as well.  
A treasure she could desire but never possess. A treasure she could admire . . . but never be allowed to love.  
Misty wove her hands around his neck, relishing the goosebumps her touch elicited upon his skin. Shard's fingers were unwavering upon her shoulders, just like his determination to save her. The solar eclipse in his vision became a brilliant sun rise. And Misty remained poised, unblinking and unafraid of what she might see radiating within the light. Misty freely allowed Shard access to her own eyes, to stare into the depths of her unspoken emotions. In this moment their gazes wholly fused. Sapphires and emeralds were set ablaze, melting into one perfect precious instant . . .  
Nothing else in the world existed . . .  
Except. . .  
Shard and Misty.  
And now something happened, something that neither one of them had expected.  
Shard found Misty's lips. Or perhaps she found his? Shard and Misty had been drawn together – pushed, as though with a divine magnetic thrust. And what they found was pure and blissful. The experience of being willingly swept away in a heavenly tide. Two hearts thundering and yet content. Second thoughts did not exist in this moment and Misty let go . . . throwing herself into this moment, into Shard. Misty pressed her body against Shard, sinking into his strong arms and simply savored every sensation. She savored being alive. She savored what it felt like to need. To be needed.  
Misty and Shard needed each other.  
Their lips seemed to melt together, moving and caressing in perfect sync. Shard tilted her head back, his mouth exploring hers more deeply. Misty relaxed, shivering, fully surrendering to his search. His lips stroked hers with such hunger, such passion . . . passion she'd not known even existed in this mortal world. How? Misty wondered, how had she gone her entire life without him?  
Her fingers frisked through Shard's spikes of hair, gripping handfuls, desperate to touch every centimeter of him. To feel alive with him. Shard's kissing pace slowed but the passion did not . . . his lips moved with more measure, more intimacy . . .  
Shard was kissing her sorrows away. Shard was kissing her tears into the past. Their lips silently confessed the unspoken words buried in their hearts. Words were not necessary for words could never translate the feelings inside them. This moment belonged to lips upon lips, breath dissolving into breath, body against body.  
It was a final kiss.  
A first and a last kiss in one moment.  
Shard and Misty clung to one another like lifelines, neither daring to stop for breath. Lifelines . . . to each other that is what they had become. Misty trying to save Shard just as he was trying to save her.  
Misty felt his fingers upon her back. Her robe was soaked from her wet hair and must have been seeping through his gloves, but Shard caressed her still. Misty believed he would have held her had she been covered in mud, in blood, in anything.  
Shard's breath in her mouth sent tremors down her spine. He tasted of sinful euphoria, and she indulged in his masculine pheromones. Shard grazed her waist then gripped her robe in a trembling fist. Misty's hands had found his chest, she felt his hard muscles through his shirt. She felt his heart hammering against her palm. She clutched his shirt with her nails, wishing she could somehow dig inside him and claim his heart forever.  
Forever. . .   
She was wearing Ash's ring. A ring that promised Ash forever.  
"No, stop!" Misty gasped. She shoved Shard backward, peeling his hands from her waist. “Ash." Was the only word she could muster, her only explanation.  
Shard was practically panting. He pressed a hand to his mouth and sighed into it. He just stared at her as the eclipse darkened his eyes once more, all passion instantly vaporized.  
"You have to be selfish to be happy, Misty." There was no bite in his tone. Shard spoke calmly and without regret.  
Then, he turned and left.  
Sam paced back and forth at the door, barking mournfully.  
Misty just stood and watched Shard’s faithful Vaporeon. Sam already missed Shard. A cold puddle was forming below her feet from her wet hair. Misty knew how Sam felt. Each beat of her heart brought agony.   
Misty shut her eyes. She could still feel the heat of Shard's lips upon her mouth.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Brock was in the backseat with his face pressed against the window. One would think that they were already driving to Misty's funeral based on the volume of his weeping.  
Ash clenched the steering wheel as though he were wringing a Rocket's throat. Ash forced a deep breath and stared at his best friend through the rearview mirror. Brock had arrived on a train from Pewter City a few hours ago. He had come to offer Ash moral support, but at the moment, his mournful sobbing only caused Ash moral murder.  
Professor Elm was riding shotgun. The kindly scientist reached into the backseat and touched Brock's trembling shoulder.  
"There, there, Brock. Please don't cry in such a way. Misty isn't gone, my good man. Remember, I'm here now. I'm here to assure that nothing will happen to her."  
Brock sniffled loudly, blowing his nose in an already soiled hankie. "I know. . . I know.” Brock muttered, tears streaking his dark cheeks.  
Professor Elm adjusted his glasses nervously. "I have a good feeling about this plan! Well, granted, it’s not nearly as brilliant as the one Professor Oak conceived to stop that vile Pokemon to begin with . . . what with the irreproducible, amazing Ghost-type property potion, BUT! The Dragon Master and I conjured this plan up, and I dare say, it is fool proof. Far better than your Ditto plan A. It's going to work, heck, we owe it to Professor Oak to MAKE it work. We have a chance to use The Rocket's killer-weapon again them. A good chance!"  
Brock nodded. "I hope so, I just can't stand the thought of Misty is harm’s way.”  
Dread spread through Ash like a terrible cancer. His throat suddenly felt thick with tumors and he couldn't breathe right, let alone contribute to the conversation. His chest tightened as though toxic growths were mushrooming about his lungs. Ash possessed the wherewithal to recognized that he was panicking. He knew that he needed to calm down, he couldn't possibly let Brock and the Professor know how terrified he was. Ash sucked in a feeble breath, steadying his thoughts and earning stares of concern from his two counterparts.  
"I'm fine." Ash said, focusing his eyes where they belonged: on the road. Neither Brock or the Professor questioned him.  
It was now midday and Ash had arranged to meet with the Rockets at a high ravine beyond the Saffron City Bridge at sundown. That meant he now had less than eight hours to create a miracle. But according to Professor Elm: science had a way of helping miracles along.  
"Look, we're almost there." Brock piped up, pointing to an upcoming road sign. "Maximum Security Prison, 4 kilometers.” He read each word carefully.  
Professor Elm adjusted his glasses again, each time he did it Ash felt another nervous tumor swell within his windpipe. "You have all your I.D. requirements right, Ash?"  
Ash nodded and kept driving. Professor Elm had already asked him that question fourteen times, this made fifteen and the answer was still yes.  
In a few moments more than a dozen armored security guards would lead Ash down into the lowest level of Kanto's most infamous prison. The Pokemon Master would be marched straight into hell. The prison’s upper levels caged the worlds most foul murderers and notorious thieves. The middle levels confined the mass murders, terrorists, public enemies and famous criminal masterminds. But it was the bottom level which held the most dangerous fiend of them all . . .one who could obliterate the entire prison with the blink of an eye.  
Ash exhaled as another sign snagged his view:  
WARNING: MAXIMUM SECURITY PRISON.   
1 kilometer.   
Government officials ONLY.  
Team Rocket's monster had not stepped from it’s Master Ball since Lance had sealed it away more than six years ago. Now Ash was about to go through a rigorous series of DNA tests, scans and password examinations to prove than he was indeed the Pokemon Master — the only living being worthy and capable of accessing the creature. The monster’s Master Ball would open for no one but him.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
"Will you hurry up in there, Slowpoke!”  
"Seriously, you're not dressing for a wedding! HAAAA!”  
Cruel snickering invaded Misty's ears but she only shook her head. Glare’s and Remington's taunting had become a blunt blade — overused and no longer sharp enough to break skin.  
"Um, yeah, you'll never be dressing for a wedding, haha!"  
"I'm coming already." Misty snapped, using a bolder tone than usual to address them. She knew full well that the Rocket's would not harm her until after they had their Pokemon.  
Misty was currently in the bathroom of her prison chamber and she was rushing to struggle into the pair of black boots, black leggings and matching black hooded sweatshirt that Glare had ordered her to change into. Misty didn’t bother to glance in the mirror. She knew that she was dressing for her own funeral and she didn't need to see it.  
Sam was with her in the bathroom, he stood guard at the door just in case one of the Rockets tried to barge in on her. Wouldn’t they be surprised when Misty and Sam exited the room side by side? After all, Giovanni knew that Shard had given her the Vaporeon and he had not confiscated him, rather he’d freely allowed her to keep him. Misty was done hiding Sam and she hoped that his presence would deter the Rocket’s from manhandling her, at least until Shard showed up. That is . . . if he was still going to. He had vowed to be with her when the Rocket’s came for her, where was he?  
Misty and Sam nodded conclusively to one another and stepped out of the bathroom and back into the main area of the chamber. A Rocket quartette – Glare, Remington, N.K. and Shard—stood waiting for her.  
He’s here!  
Relief flooded Misty like the Surf Attack of the Pokemon by her side. Shard must have come in while she was changing. The blue-haired Rocket hung back in a corner by the door. Misty knew that he was watching her through his mask and a sultry blush rushed down her arms. She could still taste Shard's lips upon hers . . . the euphoric aftertaste caused the blush to conquer her cheeks and she turned away from him, choosing the sight of Sam instead. Sam was wagging his tail upon seeing Shard, but he held his protective position staunchly at her side.  
Remington and Glare were gawking at her like a pair of Spearow's who just suffered an Confusion attack. If their jaws dropped any lower, they would need a surgeon to reattached them.  
“Ummm . . .” Glare cocked her head. “Isn’t that your Vaporeon, Shard?”  
“Yep.”  
Remington kicked at Shard’s shin and he effortlessly evaded.“What the hell, Shard?! How long has she had that runty thing?” Remington approached Sam now, arm outstretched as though he was somehow going to apprehend him.  
Beside her Sam’s scaly hackles raised, he began to snarl, bubbles jetting from his nostrils.  
“Wouldn't. Do. That.” Shard mused, leaning against the wall again.  
Misty took at step back, she knew water Pokemon and this one was preparing a Water Gun Attack. But Remington was not as keen to water Pokemon behavior as she was because he kept on coming.  
“Vap-vap-VAP!”  
“Ohhh! DAMMIT! My-my—ouch!” Remington’s knees buckled and down he went.  
Sam actually snickered, prancing cockily in circles around a kneeling Remington. The man had been Water Gun’d right in his groin.  
Glare ran to her ‘Remi’ and yanked him to his feet. “Are you okay?!”  
Remington nodded, looking queasy, hands cupped protectively over his most prized jewels.  
“Ha ha.” Shard mocked, patting his leg, inviting Sam over for a belly rub. “It looks like you peed your pants, Remster.”  
“Enough!” Glare shouted with such startling authority, that Misty finally understood why she was Giovanni’s Number One. All of them, even Sam, stiffened to attention. “Recall your stupid Pokemon, Shard, now. Whatever little game you’ve been playing with Waterflower ends right now.”  
Shard opened his mouth to say something and then . . . he shut his lips, uncharacteristically heeling to her order. He glanced in Misty’s direction and nodded, silently urging her to obey.  
“Thank you, Sam. For everything.” Misty pulled his Pokeball from her hoodie and recalled him.  
Glare snatched Sam’s Pokeball from her and chucked it at Shard with force to impress a Seismic Tossing Snorlax! Shard caught the ball, but winced as it impacted his palm.  
“Of all the unbelievable shit!” Remington grabbed the pillow from Misty’s bed and began dabbing his wet pants. “Let’s just get this show on the road, already.”  
Misty looked at Shard. Shard looked at Misty. The smallest smile caused the smallest dimple to form upon his cheek. She had to imagine that — under the mask— he was winking. He’d promised her that she would survive and Misty had to believe that this was his way of reassuring her. And —by Mew the Legendary— in this moment, as Shard stood at faux-attention, playing the obedient solider with that secret cavalier smirk . . . he was the most exceedingly attractive man she had ever seen. And — by Ho-Oh the Legendary— did Misty immediately berate herself for such unbelievable inappropriateness.  
Misty reasoned that her present doom-filled circumstances were to blame for her shameful thoughts. This was the only reason she could not stop thinking about Shard and admiring Shard. After all, the kiss they shared earlier was going to be her last moment of intimacy with a fellow human being, possibly forever. There was nothing else to that moment than that . . . Ash was the only man for her . . . she could never having true feelings for anyone but him.  
Misty scoffed inwardly, already catching her thoughts in a pitiful lie. She was longing for Shard because he had gotten to her. She had feelings for him. It was not an innocent crush. It was not a passing infatuation. It was not Stockholm syndrome. She was not in love with Shard, of course. Despite Giovanni’s warped ideas on the subject, Misty knew that love had to be developed and nurtured over time. But she did harbor very real romantic feelings and very intense lustful feelings. Misty just could not name what the hell they were or why they were torturing her here— now— when she was already a dammed hostage for the fate of the entire world! Kissing Shard was not something she regretted. Not all all. But she’d been caught by his kiss, much like a Pokemon by a ball. And Misty wondered — if she somehow survived this day — would she continue to long for Shard tomorrow and the next day and then for a forbidden eternity after that? Or would being reunited with Ash magically overpower these feelings? Was the love she and Ash shared as all-powerful as she believed? And — by Lugia the Legendary!— was she really debating her feedings for the love-of-her-life, Ash Ketchum, right NOW?!  
Like a raging Rhyhorn Misty rammed her current line of thought into the farthest abyss of her mind. She needed to concentrate on what truly mattered right now. And that was not her illicit desires for Elite-Rocket-Shard-Gary-Oak!  
"Well, you look ready.” The semi-dry-recovering-Remington commented, flashing a wicked grin.  
“Almost.” Glare announced. "This will be the finishing touch." The blond Rocket held up a black blindfold and proceeded to secure it snuggly around Misty's head, blinding her. Misty wondered if this dark fabric would be the last sight her eyes ever beheld? Misty hadn't time to contemplate the frightful notion, for gruff hands were now on her shoulders, they were certainly Remington's. He charged her forward and they began walking. Apparently they were in a rush because her pace never seemed to satisfy him, Remington continually shoved Misty onward, she was barely able to avoid stumbling over.  
"Am I going to see Ash?" Misty dared her question, forcing her voice to remain steady. She was answered by a duet of sardonic laughter. Glare and Remington sounded like two those two Spearows they’d resembled earlier, now trying to out-squawk the other.  
"I doubt it.” Came Glare finally. "Just shut up and walk.”  
Misty did, but only because she couldn't stand anymore of their ear-grating laughter.  
After what seemed like several minutes of walking and several dizzying elevators, the Rocket's stopped. Humid air now sighed across Misty's face and her heartbeat quickened. Finally, she was outside and breathing fresh air again! The weather was warm and the air sticky, but Misty relished it like the first day of Spring. She was outside for the first time in —how many days? Beneath the blindfold Misty shut her eyes and inhaled the familiar aroma of Yellow Apricorn blossoms. There was most certainly a garden nearby, and Misty wished she could see it or, at the very least, hold a blossom in her hands just once more. But even her simple wish was interrupted by sounds in the distance. These sounds belonged to footsteps and they became rapidly closer by the second. Misty knew who these footsteps belonged to even before he spoke.  
"Good evening.” Greeted Giovanni, his voice was smoother than the pouring of a sweet liquor. Misty would recognize that demon’s voice anywhere. "We'll take two cars. Glare will drive Shard and myself and N.K. will drive Miss Waterflower and Remington. Remington will ride in the backseat with Miss Waterflower to maintain order."  
"Excuse me, Sir?" Shard interjected quickly.  
"Yes, Shard?"  
"Requesting permission to trade tasks with Remington."  
Glare snorted at once. "What? You’ve GOT to be kidding. The Boss just gave an order."  
Silence smothered the area like a toxic fog and Misty instinctively held her breath. Finally, Giovanni exhaled: "Fine. N.K. will drive Shard and Miss Waterflower. Keep your car close behind ours. Let's go."  
Misty stifled a gasp . . . had Giovanni just agreed to let Shard ride with her? Her doubts were immediately eased as a familiar, comforting grip found her shoulders. Misty relaxed as Shard eased her forward and to the left. A series of footsteps moved away from them and Misty could hear Glare quietly scoffing her boss's decision. Giovanni was assuring Glare that there was no harm in Shard riding in the other car.  
Misty recognized the sound of an opening car door. One of Shard's hands slid from her shoulder and stopped at the small of her back . . . his fingers were like sparklers, leaving a heated trail down her spine. Misty failed to suppress a tremble and that failure only caused her to tremble harder. There was no way that Shard did not feel her carnal reaction to his touch. However, Shard said nothing and carefully assisted Misty downward and into the backseat of the car. The automobile reeked of new leather and Misty wrinkled her nose. It reminded her of the vehicle which had brought her to this dreadful Rocket base in the first place.  
Misty leaned back, reluctantly trying to settle in for the ride. As she did, she felt something soft against her temple . . . it was Shard's mouth . . . his lips grazed her temple, settling against her ear. Shard's face was freshly shaven and smooth. She detected just the hint of sexy masculine aftershave and was overpowered by his sexy masculine pheromones. Misty trembled yet again and surrendered to her own body’s torment. She could not stifle or deny the innate shivers his touch, his scent— his mere presence— granted her. Even now, blindfolded and being escorted to the executioner’s block, Misty wanted to be closer to him.  
“Misty." Shard's breath teased her earlobe, his voice was barely audible and Misty strained to focus on his words. He was clearly trying to relay a secret and to do so before N.K. was in earshot. "When my grandfather created that Ghost-type property potion he didn't intend to give it to Lance's Dragonite. He had no intention of using it to save the world. Gramps had created it because he . . . wanted to find me. He planned to use it on himself. If he could become partly dead then he would be able to communicate with the dead – even if only for a little while. Then he would finally learn what happened to me. If I was truly gone or if I was . . . someplace else. Unlocking the mystery of my suicide was his obsession. It was just a coincidence that the Ghost-type potion turned out to be the perfect concoction to defeat the monster. It was brilliant, no scientist has been able to reproduce his studies and create it."  
"Why are you telling me this?"  
"Because I loved my grandfather. Because I broke his heart and, even though doing so ended up saving the world, it was my fault he died. I will never forgive myself. I refuse to lose you too."  
"Even if you can save me somehow, I won't be off living some version of ‘happily ever after’ anymore. I'll be worried about you, Shard. Where you are and what’s happened to you? We both know you'll be killed if the others know you’re helping me! They want you dead already!”  
"I was already dead until I met you. You made me face myself. Now I’m trying to forgive myself. Accept myself. And . . . to let go of everything I can’t change. No matter what happens, this ends tonight."  
Misty's whisper failed her, her tone increased: "What are you talking about? Dammit, Shard, you're the one who needs saving, real saving! Not the metaphorical kind! I need to save YOU!"  
"You already have."  
“Shard—-?” Misty disengaged her question as the driver’s door clicked open. N.K. was now plopping down into the driver's seat. His weight caused the vehicle to shift. Misty knew better than to continue this conversation, although she also realized that there would never be another opportunity to complete it. Regretfully, Misty sealed her lips as the engine hummed to life and the automobile began moving.  
Misty had forgotten that she was trembling until she felt Shard's strong gloved-hand upon hers, stilling her tremors. Shard laced his fingers with hers. He applied a gentle, soothing pressure and his fingers caressed her immediate worries away. His act of comfort promised her that somehow, someway he was going to protect her. Misty returned Shard's affectionate grasp and cursed his gloves, wishing that she could feel his bare hands upon her skin, even just once. She wished that her touch could make him feel as secure as his made her feel. The touch of his hand far surpassed that of any Apricorn blossom. Misty would gladly surrender the feel of all other mortal comforts, forever, if doing so would keep Shard's hand upon her own.  
If N.K. could see them holding hands in the rearview mirror he didn't say anything. In fact the remainder of the ride was silent. As they drove onward Misty clung to Shard's hand more tightly. His hand became the rope suspending her above a pit of flames. Misty might possibly die very soon, and, if that were so then what N.K. possibly could or could not see in the rearview mirror no longer held any concern. Misty blindly reached her other hand toward Shard and enfolded his between her own.  
“Shard?" Misty's voice was so quiet she was not even sure she had spoken at all, but she continued anyway: "Make me remember this.”  
Had he heard her? Misty didn't know . . . she couldn't believe what she had just said! Her heart pummeled against in her chest like a Marowak – Misty feared it would break right through her ribs. She held her breath, her senses numbing to all but the feeling of Shard's pulse as it thudded against her palm through his gloves. His heart was answering the beat of her own, as well as her request . . .  
But Misty wasn't satisfied with his quickened pulse. She leaned into Shard, resting her head against his shoulder. Shard stiffened at first, but then he exhaled, venting his hesitations through his lips. And then Misty felt those lips surrender, pressing gently into her hair. Shard offered Misty a single tender kiss upon her head. . . the lips of a frozen man disappeared within her piles of flame. He was not afraid of getting burned, he just wanted to melt. As Shard's lips retreated, un-singed from Misty's hair, his fingers continued to stroke her own. Misty turned her face into his chest and breathed. There was a firm body, a warm body, a beautiful body encasing a beautiful soul beneath that Team Rocket uniform. Misty wished that his Rocket uniform could evaporate – she wanted to press her face against his bare chest and inhale his raw scent, breathe him into her very being where he would be safe forever.  
If only things could be different. I would have run away with you, Shard, if only I didn't love Ash so much. But, Shard, I wish I could rewind time and go back to our kiss. I never would have ended it — I never would have pushed you away. And I think . . . at least, I hope, that you know that.  
Without warning the automobile began to decelerate. Misty had no idea how long they had been driving or where they were. In a moment the car stopped and the engine died. The car’s weight shifted again as the bald Rocket got out.  
Securing this fleeting private moment, Shard leaned into Misty's ear again and spoke, only this time his tone held urgency: "Remember what I told you before? About being selfish?"  
"Yes. I remember.”  
"Good." With that Shard pulled his hands from hers — dowsing her flames with ice water. She felt him stick something inside the pocket of her hoodie. Misty didn’t need to see to know it was Sam’s Pokeball.  
Shard pulled Misty to her feet and outside of the car. Footsteps and whispers immediately swarmed upon them. A chilly burst of air struck Misty and she heard the sounds of rushing water, it was gushing from some point below them.  
"Keep Miss Waterflower quiet.” Ordered Giovanni's menacing voice. Misty was thankful that Shard sounded nothing like his terrible father.  
“Sir," came Remington, "Ketchum is on time and in the designated area over the ridge."  
"Is he alone?"  
"No, Sir. He has another man with him. Looks like Brock Stone. Should I take him out?"  
Giovanni grunted with amusement. “No need. Brock Stone is harmless. Probably offering some pathetic moral support. Have they just one vehicle?"  
"Yes, Sir."  
"Good, good. Let's commence. I have other matters to attend to before midnight. Glare and N.K., come with me. Shard and Remington, stay with Miss Waterflower until you are signaled."  
"Yes, Sir.” Blended Shard’s and Remington's obedient voices.  
As the footsteps of Giovanni, Glare and N.K. vanished, Misty felt Shard's hands in her hair untying her blindfold.  
"What are you doing?" Remington snarled. "Did the Boss okay that? I think he wants her blind until it’s over."  
Shard ignored him and Misty's sight was abruptly forced-fed the outside world again. Her retinas felt skewered by a neon rod and she winced against the impending light. Like an old fashion camera lens her eyes slowly began to focus and adjust . . . the first thing they searched for was Shard's handsome masked face.  
There . . .  
Shard's image was like a splash of cool water upon sunburned skin. Shard nodded at her and then turned his attention to their surroundings. Misty's sight followed, scanning this new environment.  
The first thing she noticed was the imminent sunset. The sky had become a backdrop of rusted metal. The clouds seemed like fleshy pouches of blood dangling by hooks of sunlight. Even the peaked mountains in the distance looked like broken piles of bone.  
Team Rocket had pulled their two automobiles along the edge of a steep ravine. Misty dared a peek below and her gut reeled with nausea. A river raged with a ravenous urge, as though it hungered for some poor soul to dare to cross its waters so that it might suck them down below. The current crashed against serrated rocks causing a terrible clash like the butting of two Scizor heads. Misty gauged the river to be at least a thirty meter drop from where they stood. She made a mental note to steer clear of the edge, if she lost her footing, even for a moment, she would surely fall to her doom. As grizzly a thought as that was, Misty imagined that a bullet in her head would be less painful than having her body shred by rocks and water.  
Misty stepped away from the cliffside and granted herself a moment to simply breathe. It had been so long since she had been outside that her lungs were famished for fresh air, and her senses on stimulation over-load.  
There was a thick bushel of shrubbery concealing the Rocket automobiles. The shrubs also blocked Misty’s view as to where Giovanni and the others had ventured off to. Misty knew that, wherever they went, Ash was there too . . .  
Remington crept toward the shrubbery, his own curiosity tempting him. He was peering intently toward something. Shard followed him and signaled Misty to join them.  
"Put her ass in the car, Shard.” Remington groaned, struggling to keep his voice low. Misty noticed that Remington was also wearing an eye mask, similar to Shard’s but black in color. “Waterflower shouldn’t get to wander around with us. She’s the damn hostage, remember? If you don’t shove her ass in the car, I will.”  
Misty had to bite down on her tongue to keep from snapping at him! Fortunately, Shard retorted for her: “Try it and I'll throw your ass over that cliff, Remster."  
"Go to hell."  
"Already there."  
"Whatever. But I'm watching her."  
"And I'm watching you."  
Misty kept out of the men's verbal scuffle. Instead she knelt in the bushes at Shard's side. As her knees sunk into the soft dirt her forearm brushed against Shard's . . . she immediately scolded herself for still taking pleasure in his contact, especially at such a time as this! She was potentially going to be murdered soon and Ash, her fiancé, was nearby and risking the fate of world to save HER. Shame now grabbed Misty’s core, shoving pleasure into the ravine. This shame shook her until she nearly cried, however no tears escaped Misty. She would not allow that wretch Remington to see her weep, he'd proudly think himself to be the source. Misty would rather suffer the strain of holding back a dam, then grant that vile man an inkling of satisfaction. Misty settled for an exasperated huff, which neither Shard or Remington reacted too. Then, carefully, she brushed a few leaves from her view and peered through the bush. . .  
ASH!  
Misty's heart pounded with such tremendous force she nearly fell backwards!  
There he was!  
Ash!  
Her fiancé!  
Her lover!  
The man she promised to spend her life with!  
The man she had given up her own dreams for . . .  
The man whose trust she had betrayed with Shard. . .  
The man who deserved better . . .  
Ash was a short distance away, about sixty meters, and Misty could not make out his exact facial expression. But, his posture was that of a Charmander who'd just endured a powerful Hydro Pump. Ash’s physical body, his mind, were about to shatter together. By Moltres, that man loved her, and if Misty were to die she knew that Ash would break and, he too, would become a . . .  
. . . Shard.  
Misty beat the emotional dam back a second time. Even now she refused to cry. Instead Misty appointed her eyes with a practical task: to analyze everything around her. EVERYTHING. If she ever wanted to be in Ash's arms again then she had to memorize the terrain. Should Fate offer Misty a chance to run she could not risk tripping on a stone or slipping in a stream of muck. Her life depended on her ability to move fast and flawlessly. Thankfully Shard had tucked Sam into her pocket, and with Sam running at her side Misty might stand a chance.  
Like herself, Ash was dressed in black from head to toe and Brock was standing beside him in similar clothing. Misty was surprised to see Brock, but ever-so-grateful that he was at Ash's side. Brock was shuddering noticeably, even from this distance. Misty did not blame him, he had every right to be frightened. These Rockets would kill them both without batting an eyelash. As far as Misty could tell Ash and Brock were alone. There were no police in sight. As much as Misty hated to admit it, neither Ash or Brock was a physical match for these trained Rocket killers. At best Ash and Brock could defend themselves with Pokemon, but even incredible Pokemon were not always equal to artillery.  
Misty took notice of a Pokeball in Ash's left hand, but not just any Pokeball . . . a Master Ball.   
Misty's blood seemed to thicken in her veins like frigid paste. . . she knew what evil resided within that ball. The horrid mass-murdering beast. The creature that had killed Professor Oak, Shard's grandfather. Misty's mind cursed Ash – she was IRATE that he had actually brought that terrible BEAST here! Misty knew that she was not worth destroying the world for. And Ash knew that too, but he truly loved her so much that he was willing to risk it? Misty allowed the cold paste to rush throughout her entire system until it clogged the sympathy in her heart. No matter how much Ash loved her he should not have come here. What the HELL was he doing!? Ash knew better! Had the Rockets truly trampled his sprit so atrociously?! Reduced him to disparity's rubble? Didn't Ash know that they would kill her no matter what?! Didn't he know that he was ending the world for nothing!?  
DAMN!  
Shard's hand found Misty's shoulder and his fingers stroked her, easing her unbearable frustration back to some level of bearable again.  
Misty focused on the other Rockets: Giovanni, Glare and N.K. now stood before Ash. All of them had adorned masks for the occasion. Giovanni, however, was hanging back, playing the part of a grunt and allowing Glare to play the lead in this operation.  
Glare rushed at Ash as though he were selling blond hair dye! Ash actually had to leap backward to avoid Glare colliding right into him. She attempted to snatch the Master Ball, but Ash maneuvered away from her and guarded his precious ball.  
With Shard's hand still infusing her with strength, Misty leaned into the bush and listened as hard as she could, but she could not clearly make out the exchange. Noting her frustration, Shard pulled a tiny speaker from his pocket, about the size of a bottle cap. It was directly linked to one of the other Rockets and allowed them to eavesdrop.  
”The ball. Now." Glare held out her hand as though she actually expected Ash to obey.  
"It's right here. But I need to see Misty first. Alive." Ash managed to keep his voice cool and controlled. Misty could tell that he was nervous, but she imagined that the Rockets would buy his bold front and that was imperative. Team Rocket could not feel as though they were intimidating Ash into a corner. The Rockets had to view him as being rational and unwilling to compromise beyond the promised terms.  
Glare cracked a fiendish smile, exposing her flawless white teeth. "Okaaaaay, Master. But, then what's stopping us from just killing you and taking that ball?"  
"Because you and I both know that it will only open for me."  
Glare stiffened but her smile never faltered. She was a professional and dangerously good at masking her intentions. “Okay, then. One sec.” Glare retrieved her cellphone and pressed on it. At once Remington's pocket began to vibrate.  
Remington did not answer it, he didn't need to, he had heard Glare loud and clear. Remington turned toward Shard, his expression unyielding: “Go on.”  
Shard nodded and took Misty by the shoulders. Misty did not struggle. There was a part of her that wanted to kick, scream and run to Ash, but Misty knew such a defiant act would only end her life sooner and possibly jeopardize Ash’s and Brock's safety as well. Therefore she submitted and allowed Shard to pull her to her feet. He walked her several steps beyond the bushes . . . toward Ash.  
Ash's sight became a bronze searchlight, illuminating Misty's own. She could feel his sight –- raw with relief and love — shining upon her face, her heart. Ash’s eyes widened, drinking her image like the essence of life. Misty shivered, blinded by emotion and wrought again with shame. She felt both unworthy of and desperate for Ash's love. Throughout all of these terrible days Misty had no doubt that Ash thought of nothing but her.  
The bronze searchlight intensified with renewed determination to save her –- to marry her. Misty should have screamed for Ash to run. Misty should have proclaimed her love and sorrow. Misty should have confessed her carnal sin at Shard's lips. Misty should have berated Ash for bringing that dammed Master Ball. Misty should have warned Ash that this entire situation was a trap. Misty needed to tell Ash that she was going to die no matter what. Give him a chance to flee!  
But, instead, Misty said nothing.  
Her lips had become like tiny pipes of metal, each magnetizing the other and unable to be pried apart. However, Misty soon realized something else: that it was not her lips which weighed her speech down, it was instead the weight of the young man’s hands on her shoulders.  
"Misty!" Ash dared a step toward her. His handsome features were bent by Fear’s crooked fingers. "Misty, are you okay?"  
Misty could only nod and Ash returned the gesture. He exhaled and ripped his sight from Misty, securing it upon Glare. Ash's bright devotion vaporized, leaving an overcast of loathing. Misty had never thought Ash capable of such a pulverizing stare.  
"You give her to me, I give you the ball.” Ash spoke like a true Master, but Glare was not intimidated.  
“Um, no, correction!” Glare mocked, casually flipping her ponytail to the side. "You give me the ball. We verify it's even legit this time, and then you tell me how to open it. And ONLY then, when that's all done, will you get your red-headed hussy back."  
Ash hesitated, but dipped his head in agreement. He glanced once more at Misty then tossed Glare the Master Ball.  
Glare caught the ball with ease and laid a playful kiss upon its top. "N.K., scan it.” she ordered, sending the ball like a hot-potato toward her associate.  
The bald Rocket pulled some kind of scanner from his pocket and went to work. The device lit up and offered several electronic beep-beeps. After a moment N.K. looked up and nodded affirmatively: "It's da real thing."  
Glare leapt in the air like a gleeful Skiploom! She squealed, she spun and she clapped! Misty flared her nostrils, a bystander would think the woman had just won the National Miss Kanto Beauty Pageant!  
Damn her! She knows that creature will kill innocent people! How dare she celebrate like this!  
Ash and Brock exchanged tensely awkward stares, neither knowing quite how to react.  
"Wow, this is wonderful!" Glare settled down at last, plucking the Master Ball back from N.K. "Ketchum, you hunky, hunky man you! You're not as dumb as I thought after all. Good job!” She winked at him suggestively, still giggling. "Shame you're the enemy, I wouldn't mind rewarding you personally for your smart decision."  
Misty's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, if Glare even tried to touch Ash she'd tear out all of her fake blond hair!  
Ash only curled his lip in disgust, eyeing Glare like a rotting carcass. "You shot Lance, you bitch. You have the dammed Pokemon, now give me my fiancée. NOW!"  
Glare either didn't hear Ash or she was ignoring him: "How do I open it?" She demanded, turning the Master Ball over in her hand.  
Ash pulled a small vile from his pant pocket and tossed it to Glare. "With this. It's my blood. The ball is sensitive to my DNA. It can be opened with a drop of my blood or my fingerprint, anything that's part of me will open it. Once you get it open make sure you have another Master Ball handy to keep that thing confined in. You won't want to keep it in this ball or you'll never be able to open it again without me."  
"I'm way ahead of ya, Master K.” Glare plucked another Master Ball from her belt. She then turned toward Giovanni and he offered her a subtle nod. Glare grinned, turned toward Shard and Remington and shouted: "Kill Waterflower! Kill her now!"  
"WHAT?" Brock wailed in absolute horror, his hands balling into fists. "YOU can't DO that! Ash gave you the Pokemon!"  
Ash charged Glare like a bucking Tauros, nearly shoving her to the ground! "LIARS!" Ash roared, he reached into his pocket again but this time retrieved a normal Pokeball. Ash threw the Pokeball like a grenade and its monster was released within a crimson blaze.  
Ash's Charizard materialized and he was bellowing with fury! Scorching flames blasted from the dragon's mouth and smoke swirled from his nostrils. Granted Charizard was rarely in a placid mood, but judging from his extreme rage Ash must have explained their dreadful situation to him beforehand.  
"Charizard, get Misty!" Ash commanded and Charizard zeroed-in on her at once. His dragon-eyes ignited like heat-seeking missiles, and he instantly recognized Misty as his long-time friend. Charizard launched himself into the sky and came blistering toward her at his top speed!  
Charizard seemed far from pleased to see Shard's hands upon her shoulders. Misty knew that the dragon would devour Shard within flames if Ash didn't call him off at once!  
Misty was about to yell, but Giovanni beat her to it: "Not so fast!" Giovanni also realized how potentially lethal Charizard was. The Boss understood that immediate action was needed to save his son from a fiery grave! With the reflexes of a much younger man, Giovanni leapt forward and snatched the Master Ball and vile from Glare. With practiced ease Giovanni poured Ash's blood on the ball.  
Misty felt Shard's grip tense upon her shoulders . . .  
There was no turning back now . . .  
. . . and before her eyes the Master Ball exploded into a brilliant blaze of amethyst-terror!  
Misty was not sure exactly when sun had begun to set, but she realized that night had befallen them. Now a nightmarish display of light erupted in the heavens! Lavender lights sizzled in the sky like grease in a skillet. Neon-violet scorched her eyesight and shades of plum crackled over the horizon. These mortal colors continued to erupt within the atmosphere until, at last, the source of their power revealed itself . . .  
Misty's worst nightmare.  
She had never forgotten that cruel feline face.  
Those sinister amber eyes . . . like glowing coals that never burned out. The evil demon, the murdering Pokemon, it was now here before them all. It had been unleashed upon the world yet again.  
The creature was larger than Misty had remembered. It was freakishly taller than the average human and its thighs and tail were solid muscle. Its fingers seemed like alien probes. The creature began cocking its head like a curious baby Meowth. It was staring very hard at Giovanni . . . then, although disinterested, the creature skyrocketed into the heavens. It moved with unnatural speed, Misty had never seen even a Rapidash with such awing acceleration. Without being issued a command the creature surrounded itself with a glowing forcefield. The sheer intensity of its light dulled every star in the sky.  
"Yes! YEESSS!" Giovanni raised his hands in triumph and bellowed with delirious delight.  
Misty at once remembered Charizard! She turned toward the dragon, but thankfully, he had halted in his tracks. He was distracted by the presence of the creature. Charizard was anxious, he seemed to be anticipating something far more ominous than Shard's hands on Misty.  
"Kill the Charizard." Giovanni commanded, grinning.  
Without batting an eye the creature gathered its psychic energy and struck Charizard with a devastating attack. Like a stray feather on the wind, Charizard was plucked from the air and hurled into the night! The huge dragon tumbled as though he were a mere tattered a Poke'doll! Misty screamed as the helpless dragon came crashing into the dirt, impacting the landscape like a meteor! He had landed about thirty meters away. Misty would not have been able to see Charizard at all had his tail not still been burning. At least the fire meant that he was alive, although he was not moving.  
Without warning someone snagged Misty's sweatshirt hood, twisted it and yanked her backward—HARD! Misty gagged as the fabric pressed against her throat and her balance gagged along with her! The next thing she knew she was on the ground. Misty saw Shard kneeling upon the dirt beside her, he was shaking his head, posture woozy. He’d clearly been struck down by surprise. Misty craned her neck to see Remington behind her –- the source of her near asphyxiation. Remington was yelling at her – ordering her to stand! He jerked her by the hood again, yanking her upright. Despite her lack of breath Misty fought him! She seized her own hood and struggled with all of her might to pull it from his hands.  
Misty was successful in loosening his grip so she could breath, but unsuccessful in shaking him off. “Let me go!" When words unscathed him Misty flailed harder – her jerking movements put a Magikarp to shame! Remington finally stumbled, unable to maintain his grip.  
"Bitch!" The Rocket kicked Misty, his boot colliding with her stomach and sending her rolling across the ground. Misty heaved, fighting against vomit, and somehow managed to scramble to her knees. However, she should have known that Remington was only warming up . . . as Misty raised her head she found herself staring into the barrel of a handgun. However, Misty also should have known that Shard would die before he'd watch Remington ever harm her again!  
Elite Rocket Shard was now upon Remington like a ravenous Houndour! The two men tumbled to the ground in a fearsome display of pounding fists. The gun was sent sailing over the ravine into the river below. The Rockets grappled with intent to shatter bone! Remington seized a fist-full of Shard's hair and used it to slam his face into the ground. Shard groaned loudly, blood pouring from his nose. Next Remington endured Shard’s elbow to his face, which caused him to release the blue hair. Shard followed the elbow blow by a direct punch to Remington’s gut! But the older Rocket took the shots like pro. Remington was frenzied by conviction for bloodlust! The older man screamed with rage, blocking Shard’s next punch and landing one of his own— planting the side of his fist into the side of Shard’s head. Shard fell forward, on his hands and knees in the mud. He sputtered and gagged against the mortal fluid in his mouth. With Shard seemingly disabled, Remington drew a small knife from his belt and swiped at him Scyther-style! Shard quickly rolled to the side, avoiding the blade in his back, but not avoiding harm altogether. Remington successfully sliced the back of his left thigh. Like an exploding blood-bag, did gore spurt down Shard’s white uniform— tidying the pant leg in crimsons hues. Shard cried out— sounding more enraged than distressed —and struck the knife from his opponent’s hand.  
Although she was still short-of-breath, Misty crawled toward the men. She was frantically searching the ground for a rock, a stick— anything that she could strike Remington with! The knife had landed out of sight and Shard needed help NOW!  
Remington proceeded to bash Shard's face into the ground a second time, however, the second time turned out to be Remington's final lucky blow. Moving with incredible dexterity Shard shoved Remington off of him and quickly mounted his foe. Shard's hands wrapped around Remington's throat. The older Rocket writhed, gasping desperately as he tried to push Shard away from him. But Shard's fingers were locked in a determined death-grip . . . his hands were secured in position and Misty knew that Shard was going to crush Remingtion's throat like a paper cup!  
A few meters away Glare began shrieking: "SHARD! TRAITOR! DAMN YOU SAHRD!" She rushed toward the two men and raised her own pistol . . . aiming it directly at Shard.  
At first Misty thought that a thunderstorm had broken across the sky – the booming eruption was so deafening that she was certain she'd been hit by lightning. When pain failed to sting her, Misty realized that there was no storm at all. Instead, the ear-shattering sound had been that of a gunshot.  
Misty stared hard at Shard . . .  
He was not shot. Instead it was Glare who was on the ground. The blond Rocket was curled upon her side, writhing in pain. Glare's left hand clutched her right arm as her shoulder leaked blood.  
Both Shard and Remington ceased their grappling. Wholly startled, they released each other and joined Misty in watching Glare squirm upon the dirt like a butchered Weedle.  
Now Remington began to shriek: “N.K.!? What the hell?! You shot her?! YOU SHOT GLARE!?”  
Misty's sight pinpointed the bald Rocket. He stood, unwavering in the darkness with a smoking pistol in hand. At N.K.'s side stood Giovanni and he did not look surprised or upset in any way. Misty realized that Giovanni must have given N.K. the order to take Glare down. He was protecting his son.  
Giovanni now turned toward Remington. "He has also lost control, disable Remington too."  
Without a glimmer of hesitation or remorse N.K. pulled his trigger a second time. He was like a killing machine and Giovanni had just pressed a lethal button. The gunshot was just as deafening the second time.  
Remington wailed in agony as the bullet tore through his flesh. The Rocket clutched his left thigh and collapsed. The ground was immediately stained by his sticky gore.  
Misty suddenly remembered that Ash and Brock were present in this nightmare. The two young men had been temporarily frozen by shock and confusion, but were now glancing at one another, completely horrified by whatever was going on between the Rockets.  
Team Rocket's creature was still hovering in the night sky, content to simply observe the gruesome scene below it. The creature seemed only mildly interested in the bloodshed, its amber eyes were wide . . . it seemed partially distracted by something else, but Misty did not doubt that it would join the terror at Giovanni's first command.  
Misty held her breath, eyes scanning the creature more carefully. It was distracted. The Rocket's manpower had been slashed in half and she was still alive! THIS moment could very well be her one and only chance to escape – her ONE opening to run like hell! To flee for her life. To dash straight into Ash's arms! So what if the creature killed them all, if she ran there was at least a chance that she could die with Ash's arms around her. She missed him so much . . .  
And so Misty ran.  
Only, she did not rush toward Ash . . .  
An innate compulsion possessed her, and Misty could not deny it. Misty Waterflower ran to Elite Rocket Shard.  
Her Rocket.  
Shard was on the ground, clutching his injured leg and struggling to remain sitting upright. He had been seriously injured during his brawl with Remington. Shard had suffered multiple blows to the head and a potentially critical knife wound.  
Blood trickled down Shard's chin from his nose, but he did not seem to notice it. His attention was latched upon Glare and Remington, shot down by N.K. and yowling in pain. Misty knelt beside Shard, wiping away his blood with her sleeve. "Shard?"  
Shard turned to her, his face but a breath from her own. "I'm okay.” He whispered. Misty felt his hand in her hair, stroking her bangs from her eyes. "Misty," his tone sharpened and he pointed toward Ash, "don't miss your chance to escape. When I tell you to run, you release Sam and you two RUN. Got it? I can’t follow you,” he gestured to his butchered leg, “but Sam will cover you. You are the strongest person I know, Misty. You can do this. You can make it. I know you can.”  
Misty only nodded, shuddering as his hand left her hair . . . Misty knew that Shard had touched her for the last time.  
As though responding to another mechanical cue, N.K. marched toward his fallen teammates and proceeded to scoop up Glare's nearly unconscious body and take her back toward the Rocket's parked cars.  
While the Rockets were distracted Ash and Brock had decided to retaliate. A very familiar Pikachu and Onix suddenly appeared on the scene. Both Pokemon were hurling rocks and electricity into the darkness, trying with futile effort to strike the Rocket's Pokemon from the sky.  
“Ash! Are you CRAZY?!” Misty's screeched. "They're NO match for that THING! Call Pikachu off before he gets killed!"  
Ash shook his head at Misty, indicating that she was wrong. Had Ash truly gone INSANE? He may wield the world’s strongest Pikachu, but his mouse was no match for a creature as diabolical and powerful as the Rocket's feline fiend.  
From the sky the creature easily dodged Pikachu’s and Onix's grandest assaults as though they were ping-pong balls thrown by children. Giovanni laughed with amused pity and pride.  
"Well, this is pathetic, Pokemon Master. Honestly!” Giovanni stifled another burst of laughter. "It's been an entertaining warm-up for my Pokemon, but all good things must come to an end. N.K.," Giovanni glanced toward the bald Rocket, who was returning from placing Remington's injured body inside the car. "I want you to kill Miss Waterflower. Now."  
Ash and Brock gasped loudly – aghast beyond words — but their cries were swiftly muffled when the Rocket's creature began yelping in mysterious pain. The creature began to sway woozily in the sky . . . then drift . . . downward with no more stamina than a falling leaf.  
Ash watched the creature's free-fall with strange anticipation – he was not at all surprised by the Pokemon's abrupt illness. In fact, Ash seemed to be expecting it.  
"What's this?" Giovanni gasped, dismayed as his creature fell to the ground like discarded trash. The creature was no longer shining with purple strength, but rather it had become pale and feeble-looking like a melting candle. With it’s feet upon the soil the creature began convulsing violently – it was entirely unable to even stand, let alone levitate. Pikachu and Onxi stood over the creature, preparing to strike should it get back up.  
"This isn't my. . ." Giovanni's words dissolved and he turned a dangerous, accusing scowl upon Ash. "It's a clone! An infected, dying clone! N.K.! KILL MISS WATERFLOWER!"  
Shard's hands were upon her back now, shoving her forward.  
“Misty! Run to Ketchum! NOW!"  
This time Misty Waterflower did run to Ash!  
Misty released Sam and together they BOLTED! Her muscles screamed in agony as she pushed them for more speed than ever before! Her lungs ached . . . but, no matter how her feet pounded she felt as though she were running through water . . . her best efforts seemed like slow-motion.  
Grinding his fangs, Sam fixed his ebony sight upon N.K. The Vaporeon assaulted the Rocket with a series of long-range Water Gun attacks. N.K. was knocked off his feet, swearing loudly at the unexpected Pokemon offense. Sam barked at Misty, encouraging her to press onward! And then Sam covered ground as though in fast-forward! He launched himself at N.K. and began physically attacking him with devastating Tackle and Double Kick maneuvers! Sam would not risk the man getting a hold of that gun again!  
Ash was barely fifteen meters away from her now . . . Misty focused on his warm brown eyes . . . the lights to guide her home to safety! Ash was running toward her now too! In a moment they would be together again, at last. . .!  
But . . .  
From the corner of her sight Misty saw something that made even Ash's eyes fade away into the bleakness. What she saw made her halt in her tracks and go stumbling into the dirt.  
Giovanni himself held a gun now and his gun was aimed at her. Giovanni was much closer to her than Ash was, barely five meters away. At this range Misty knew that the Rocket mastermind was not going to miss.  
Upon her bruised knees, spotlighted by the moon, Misty accepted the fact that she was about to die. She faced her murderer. She did not cry. She did not plead. Ash was yelling, Brock was screaming and even Pikachu and Onix were blaring with fright. But all four were too far away— all four were helpless to aid her. Not even Pikachu was quick enough to zap a bullet at this range.  
Giovanni cocked the trigger and the gunshot resounded like an atomic bomb. Misty felt nothing but her hands as they collided with the ground. The dirt was moist and cool beneath her palms.  
And now a mighty scream tore through the night air. It was a scream bred to tatter tranquility and vanquish hope.  
But it was not Misty's scream.  
This agonizing scream belonged to Team Rocket's boss.  
It was fight or flight time for Misty, and she quickly propelled herself to her feet. She had not been shot but. . . Giovanni HAD been!  
The vile man had been shot in his left calf and his knee was buckling, pulling him downward into the same cool dirt. Only, Giovanni was not interested in feeling dirt. The man was seemingly wrought from iron and somehow — despite the blood spewing from his leg like a busted sewer pipe — he remained on his feet.  
Ash, Brock, Onxi, Pikachu, Sam and even N.K. were momentarily crippled by raw shock.  
Instinct guided Misty's sight away from them all and behind her toward the edge of the ravine.   
History has a scornful way of repeating itself. Giovanni was most certainly thinking: like mother, like son. The final stage was set and Shard was destined to play the leading role . . . he stood against a dramatic backdrop of night. The sky, once hued like ocean water was now darker than a pool of tea. Shard stood upright— posture bold and unrepentant –- the perfect killer that Giovanni had molded him to be. Shard's huge firearm was smoking in his hands and — his expression announced to one and all— that he was about to fire again. Only, this time, he would not be aiming for Giovanni's leg.  
"No! Shard, don't kill him!” Misty heard her own voice — she tried to hush the words but they battled her lips and forced their way free: "He's your fath—!"  
BANG!  
This bullet was intended to kill.  
This bullet stuck it’s victim square in the chest.  
This bullet was fired by Giovanni.  
And this bullet was lost someplace deep within the cavity of Elite Rocket Shard's chest.  
What does it mean to suddenly lose all sensation? What truly happens when a human is anesthetized beneath a surgeon's knife? The person is not dead, just unfeeling, insensitive . . . dull.  
As a halo of gore bled through the ‘R’ on Shard's white uniform, Misty became completely numb, unfeeling, insensitive . . . dull. Self-induced anesthesia— it was her mind’s defense mechanism against insanity. In this moment Misty could feel nothing, hear nothing, or move. Even her thoughts processed as though churning within a vat of glue. Misty's eyes seemed to be her only sense left intact . . . and so, she watched. She watched Shard. Beneath the moonlight he was beginning to look unnaturally pale. The color was draining from his face . . . Misty thought this very odd. Was, perhaps, the night breeze somehow carrying his color away? If so, it aught to take away the splattered red finger-paint on his shirt too.  
Shard now swayed like a wilting plant and then he stumbled backward. Misty frowned inwardly, apparently the night wind was stealing his balance away as well.  
Shard’s lips parted and trembled —by all of the Pokemon gods— he was stunning . . . Misty thought that perhaps he wished to speak? But it looked instead as though he were . . . gasping? But that didn't make any sense . . . and he made no sound that Misty could hear. She decided to concentrate on those lips of his, oh, what sinful fascination seized her! Misty could not look away . . . she'd tasted them, she'd savored their sultry essence and she'd relished in their pleasures . . .  
Wait!   
He was . . . gasping . . .? No. . . . what . . .?  
No more were Shard's heated breaths destined for Misty's mouth. His lips had room only for liquid now . . .  
Thick scarlet liquid, like raspberry liquor, was dribbling from Shard's lips. But . . . it did not look sweet . . . it seemed instead to be a gruesome liquid— more like fluid rust. The red fluid dared to slide down Shard's chin and then it spilled freely upon his uniform, ruining it. Didn't his uniform use to be white? When did he change to burgundy? No matter, how dare such filth think itself worthy to so freely maneuver across him!  
By Mew, no. . . . wait . . . no. . . NO . . . that's not liquor. . .or rust . . . that's. . . that’s . . .  
The frost dulling her eardrums melted away. It was in this precise moment Misty realized that Shard was gagging. Loudly. He sounded as though he were drowning, only he was far from the water. Shard could not breathe but, somehow, he remained standing. Misty also stopped breathing now but, somehow she too, remained on her feet.  
Arms enfolded Misty. These arms hugged her body so tenderly, so desperately. Warm kisses were upon her face. Misty ignored them all . . . her sight would not leave Shard.  
"DAMN YOU, SHARD! BETRAYING ME! After all I've done for you! I KILLED HER FOR YOU! I killed her and I put everything I had into creating YOU! YET you’re still JUST LIKE HER! You still betray me!? ME!” Giovanni was screaming — tears dripping from his eyes in tempo with the blood from Shard’s mouth. The man who epitomized calmness and control had utterly snapped. Shard’s gunshot may have landed in Giovanni’s leg, but the bullet had successfully broken his father's sanity and . . . whatever remained of his heart. And again.  
And again.  
And again.  
Misty's brain began to count . . .  
BANG! BANG! BANGBANGBANGBANGGG!  
She registered ten shots – rhythmic and carnal like a beating heart.  
With each shot Shard was jolted backward one step at a time. Misty felt her arms pushing Ash aside! She felt her legs racing toward the ravine. . .  
Shard was staring at her. Even through that mask she knew he had eyes only for her. Misty also knew that Shard was falling backward . . . about to embark on the final free fall of his life.  
A scream tore from Misty's throat, scorching her vocal chords like auditory flame. She dove for him! She reached! She stretched out her arms – her fingers! Then she landed on the ground.  
Shard disappeared over the edge of the ravine. He would fall more than thirty meters. Misty knew what awaited his body at the bottom – jagged rocks and a raging river.  
Behind her Sam yowling with devastation, losing complete interest in N.K. The bald Rocket took advantage of this and was scooping up his injured Boss and hightailing it back to their car. Giovanni appeared unconscious, probably due to blood loss.  
Ash and Brock chose to let the devil escape in order to save their angel. The two men rushed to Misty's side and she thrashed against them, furious at their lack of a rescue attempt for Shard! Misty cried loudly, frantically pointing to the river below.  
"SAVE HIM! He's afraid of water! PLEASE HELP HIM!" She wailed on, her knees centimeters deep within a warm pool of Shard's blood.  
Ash only held her, stroking her hair and kissing her head. Misty knew he was touching her but she could not feel him. "Misty, it's over. They can't hurt you anymore."  
Brock threw his arms around them both, he was sobbing. Misty heard the Rocket’s car speed away. Her sight would not waver from the wild, powerful rapids and sharp rocks below . . . her sight searched the area frantically, but there was no sign of Shard. Whatever remained of him had already been sucked below the rapids and whisked away.  
Sam was at her side now, he was limping and bleeding badly from his scuffle with N.K. Sam’s heightened Pokemon vision joined Misty’s, scanning the river below. After a moment, he looked to Misty and lowered his head, whimpering. He did not see Shard. For a moment Sam seemed to consider jumping down after his friend, but his battered body gave out and he collapsed beside Misty. She gathered Sam in her arms, he would never have survived the dive! She tried to shake Ash and Brock off of her! Why weren’t they doing anything!?  
"Those bastards can't hurt you anymore.” Ash breathed.  
"You don't understand!” Tears blurred Misty's vision, but still she looked for her blue-haired Rocket. "He wasn't hurting me. He saved me."  
"I'm sorry, Misty.” Came Brock, who was already on his cellphone, undoubtedly dialing the police. "There's no way that Rocket survived all those gunshots, let alone the fall. Let's just be grateful he did what he did, you would be dead otherwise.” Phone sandwiched between his cheek and shoulder, Brock gently picked up Sam, examining his injuries.  
"Maybe the police will find his body?" Ash offered, lifting Misty into his arms. She was far too weak to fight him now, dizziness threatened to smother her consciousness. She knew she'd be unable to resist a blackout much longer. "It doesn't matter anymore anyway," Ash kissed her forehead, “you're safe, Misty. We're together."  
Misty shut her eyes, begging her brain to make her numb again.  
As Ash began walking, a beckoning darkness began to swirl around her and Misty longed to lose herself within it— to lose herself wherever that river had taken Shard.  
‘Maybe the police will find his body?’ Ash's words echoed in her mind, but Misty already knew they were hollow.  
They would never find his body.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Church bells rang in the distance. These were not chimes resounding from an angelic cathedral. These chimes echoed across the night sky as though clanged by a ghostly fist. Depending on the receiving ear these church bells could be perceived as either somber or as a hymn of bliss. The same series resonated both at funerals and weddings alike. However, tonight these bells neither rang for Shard's funeral or for the nuptial celebration of Ash and Misty. These were merely the twilight chimes which rang every Saturday night at the stroke of ten. The chimes were rung by the monks who lived in the mountains surrounding the Indigo Plateau, and Misty found herself counting them. The clangs numbered ten.  
Ten.  
The number of gunshots which had sent Shard over the ravine and out of her life.  
Misty flinched upon her pillow and tried to pull the fabric over her ears. After a futile moment she sat up in bed. Ash slept silently beside her with Pikachu curled upon his chest. Sam snoozed by her feet at the bed’s edge. Doing her best not to stir the mattress, Misty stood up and walked toward the window. She pulled the curtain aside and pressed her forehead against the cool glass, allowing her sight full access to the night. A trickle of moonlight bled through the dark sky like milk spilled upon a black cloak – the stain was blatant at first but was quickly absorbed within the darkness. Like a lonely waterlily did Misty's sight continue to drift across the evening landscape. Ash's condo was situated on a high hill overlooking the Pokemon Master's battle arena. Except for the morsels of moonlight the environment was no more than a daunting shadow, barren of vitality . . . just like her.  
Misty never was fond of the view here, she much preferred that of her apartment in the Orange Islands. She wanted to be surrounded by water, not cement, buildings. Misty’s apartment in the islands was soon to become her former apartment. She would be moving out after their wedding and leaving her job there as organizer of the Orange Islands Water-type training program. Misty would then live full time with Ash and start looking for a new job, something closer to the Plateau. These decisions had been finalized a long time ago. The commute from her apartment in the Islands to the Indigo Plateau was more than a days travel. Ash and Misty could never settle down and build a life if they lived so far apart. Ash could not be expected to give up being the Pokemon Master just to spend more time with her. That would be completely unrealistic, Misty mused, remembering that this same debate — which she so often had with herself— she had already had with Shard.  
Mentally returning to her default line of argument: Misty resolved that her dream job would have to go. It had been her idea. Misty had offered to give it up and make the move back to Kanto. She was confident that she would find another job quickly. Ash had often told her that she need not even worry about work, he made more than enough money to support them both. But Misty could never take Ash up on that offer. If he paid the electric bill then she insisted on paying for water. If he paid for the cellphones then she would take care of their online charges. She was an independent woman, nothing like her gold-digging sisters, and proud of that fact. Misty would pay her share or she would not move in with Ash at all. Although he teased her for being so stubborn, Misty knew that Ash admired this quality within her. He loved the fact that she wanted to be with him simply to be with him and for no other reason. Of course all of these plans had been made quite some time ago . . .  
Before she had been abducted by Team Rocket.  
Misty continued to stare into the night, allowing coal to seduce jade. It was like peering into the eyes of an Arbok . . . eternally black . . . but Misty was use to this sight. Even in broad daylight this is what she saw. Black. Everywhere she went. Every. Single. Day. For the past two months.  
Following her release from the Rocket base, Misty had spent a few days in the hospital, and then the next two weeks at her island apartment. She worked around the clock at her job. She had felt an urgent need to catch up on all of the work she had missed while abducted. They felt like four lifetimes. Her boss pleaded with her to stop working –- to go home and rest, but Misty would not. She could not. When her mind lacked an appointed task it would fixate, and it would always fixate on him.  
Ash would travel to the Orange Islands and stay with her every single weekend. He was doting and sweet, always bringing her presents and offering to treat her to hours of pampering at luxury spas.   
Ash had tried so very hard to understand her pain – her distraction – but now, after two months, Misty knew that he was frustrated with her. She had been . . . distant. No. The word ‘distant’ was an understatement. Misty had not yet shown interest in setting an official wedding date. And she had not been intimate with Ash once since she had been back. Ash would sleep in bed with her and cuddle her or kiss her, but Misty would go ridged . . . she did not want to push him away, but she could not loose herself with Ash the way she once could so naturally, with such raw want and desire. Misty would try to find passion with him – she would try so damn hard — but she just could not. It was not Ash's fault. Misty was depressed and she knew it. Ash knew it too, and per his urging she had begun seeing a psychiatrist, the best and most expensive one in the country.  
The root of their trouble was no secret: Ash wanted Misty to stop thinking about Shard and Misty wanted Ash to believe that Shard was still out there.  
Ash believed that her thoughts about the Rocket were unhealthy . . . for two months Misty continually insisted that Shard was still alive. Shard's body had not been found. There was zero proof that he was dead. Ash and the psychiatrist told Misty that she was suffering from a mental breakdown syndrome. They’d even dared to toss ‘Stockholm syndrome’ around, claiming that her imprisonment had caused her to develop an abnormal sense of loyalty toward the man who had held her hostage. According to the psychiatrist: Misty's captivity was so unbearably horrifying that any tiny shred of kindness Shard showed her was magnified tenfold within her mind, blah, blah, blah.  
Believing that he was aiding her recovery, Ash asked Misty to watch the video of Shard smacking her around. Misty humored him and watched it. Afterward she explained to Ash that Shard was not really hurting her, but rather pretending to in order to spare her a harsher punishment from Remington. Despite her honest explanation, Ash did not believe her. Neither did the psychiatrist. Misty decided it best not to tell either of them about Gary Oak. Lord knew what they would think of her mind-state then, plus, she would not betray Shard's secret.   
An invisible rope had been tied around Misty's heart and Shard held the other end. She could not move forward until he either let go or decided to move forward with her. When Misty described this feeling of helplessness to the psychiatrist, the woman recommended that Misty keep a diary and to write in it everyday. Misty was told to try and remember what had really happened during her captivity – detail for detail – and so Misty did. She wrote about many people and things: Giovanni, Glare, Remington, N.K., Sam, the evil Pokemon, but always about Shard. Her diary was a treasure trove of letters intended only for his eyes. This diary was kept private from everyone – even from her psychiatrist — for it held too many devastating secrets. Both Shard’s and Giovanni's secrets were penned there. But mostly Misty wrote about the forbidden longings of her heart.  
Shortly after her release Misty had learned that Giovanni – the Viridian City Gym Leader – had suffered a heart attack and died. Misty suspected this information was a lie, as there was no public funeral for him. But still she kept his secret anyway. She kept it because she knew, in her heart, that Shard was still alive and that any attack on the Rockets might harm him in some way. Leaking the truth could cause the Rockets to come after her again, or Ash, or someone else that she loved. Misty knew that these secrets were safe only in her diary. Sometimes she would even write about other secrets too . . . regrets.   
Sometimes Misty wished that she had taken Giovanni up on his offer. That she had stayed at Team Rocket at Shard's side. Sometimes she wished that she had taken Shard up on his offer and run away with him. Had she accepted either then Shard would not have been shot down. But Misty did not regret protecting Ash's heart – she never could have been happy leaving him believing her dead.  
But she was miserable now, and a part of her resented Ash and Brock for not trying to help Shard as he fell off the ravine. Both men had strong water Pokemon on their person, but neither thought to release one and send it after the injured Rocket.   
Misty was taken directly to a hospital from the ravine, and it took hours of screaming before Ash even asked the police to look for Shard. There were other fights between them too . . . Ash wanted a bodyguard to follow Misty around every time she left his apartment. Misty was adamantly against that idea. She agreed never to go anyplace without her Pokemon, but she would not give up her privacy. Ash was constantly paranoid about her safety. If she did not call him every hour on the hour he would send Officer Jenny to check on her. Ash meant the very best, but sometimes Misty felt more trapped now then she had in the Rocket base.  
Ash desperately wanted her to accept the fact that Shard was gone and, in attempt to put her at ease, last month he had hired a team of private investigators to scour the river for Shard's body. After weeks of searching they turned up nothing. Both police and investigators assumed Shard's remains had been devoured by wild Pokemon. Misty did not believe that. Granted she had no explanation of how he could still be living but, a part of her could not —would NOT —- believe that he was truly gone.  
How could Misty prove that the night sky was black? That the ocean glistened blue? All she knew for certain was the feeling inside of her heart.  
Misty abandoned the window and walked to her dresser drawer. She pulled out her diary and a pen. Not wanting to disturb Ash, Pikachu or Sam she took these items downstairs into the kitchen. There, situated upon a barstool, she began to write. As always the first word she penned was ‘Shard’.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
The fire was burning out. Misty's touch – once hot with love – now could only singe with sorrow. Misty's eyes – once playful flames — had faded to regretful embers. Misty's smile once ignited his soul, just a grin and his entire world was set ablaze with passion. Now he barely remembered what her smile looked like, it was only a shadow cast by the dimming cinders of their future. Misty's face no longer soothed him with tender warmth. Sometimes she would attempt to smile for him, but this forced heat was miserable— a scalding, agonizing heat that blistered his heart. Misty touched his face with the same fingers but they did not belong to him anymore. He tried as hard as he could to refuel the fire with his own love, but he was no longer enough. He could not provide the kindling to keep her soul aflame and, if something was not done to reignite Misty soon, she would burn out. Completely. If that happened then not only would the woman he loved be gone, but Misty would cease to be Misty . . . the best friend he had adored for his entire lifetime.  
As Misty's footsteps vanished down the stairwell Ash's eyes blinked open. He sat up in bed, Pikachu rolling down his chest, down the comforter and bumping into Misty’s adopted Vaporeon, Sam.  
"Pi?" The mouse yawned, his dark eyes foggy with sleep.  
“Vap?” The water Pokemon blinked groggily.   
Ash stroked Pikachu beneath the chin with one hand and sighed into his other. "It's okay, guys. Go back to sleep.” Ash whispered.  
Pikachu eyed his master skeptically, but soon did begin to doze off. Sam, on the other hand, stood up and stretched. His gaze scanned the half-empty bed. With a final “Vap-vap”, Sam leapt from the bed and out the bedroom door.  
Ash's sight followed the Vaporeon out the door. He knew where Sam was going. To follow Misty. And he knew what Misty was doing. She was downstairs writing in her diary. Again. Like she did every single night for nearly the past two months.  
Ash shook his head, he missed her. Misty had not been the same since she had been released from Team Rocket. Instead of planning their future she was obsessed with finding the fallen Elite Rocket. The disappearing Rocket shattered an emotional mirror within Misty, and Shard was the one missing sliver of broken glass that she needed to be complete. Without this sliver everything the looking glass reflected would be distorted. Misty was incomplete.  
Sometimes days would pass where she would not mention his name and then, out of the blue, something would trigger his face within her mind and Misty would become engrossed –- fanatical upon the insane notion that he was still alive and hiding out in the world somewhere.  
Well, Ash knew for a fact that the Rocket was dead. Ash had SEEN him take ten bullets in the chest and then plunge more than thirty meters into a rocky river. Ash could not understand why Misty cared so much about the Rocket's fate. He questioned her dozens of times as to why. He was worried that the Rocket had done something to Misty . . . what, Ash didn't know, nor was he sure that he wanted to know. But Misty claimed that Elite Rocket Shard was kind to her and protected her. Ash did find it odd that the man had shot his boss to protect Misty – and Ash was grateful— but he did find it odd. Still that did not erase the fact that Ash possessed a video of that exact Rocket physically beating Misty.  
What had gone on between them? Whenever Ash accused the Rocket of doing something to her Misty became irate with him. At times she would even yell at him—blame him for not trying to somehow rescue Shard from his watery grave. At the time Ash was overwhelmed with relief at being reunited with Misty again – that she was even alive – the last thing on his priority list was risking the life of one of his Pokemon by sending it into the river after that Rocket's corpse. Reflecting, if Ash had ever known that the lack of such an action would cause him eternal scorn from Misty, he would have jumped in after the bastard himself!  
The night Misty had been rescued she was a nervous-wreck. She spent two nights in the hospital undergoing tests to make sure she had not suffered severe physical punishment or been exposed to any deadly diseases. When she was released from the hospital she wanted to go straight to her apartment in the Orange Islands. Ash took a week off of work to stay with her, and this was their first moment alone since before her abduction. He had missed her so much! Naturally his first impulse was to take her into his arms, to kiss and become intimate with her —and, at first, Misty kissed him back and told Ash that she loved him. Ash desperately needed to be close to her, to feel that she was okay, that their love had endured this nightmare. As his fingers worked to unclasp her shirt buttons, Misty suddenly shoved him away. Ash had actually fallen on his backside. Misty apologized profusely, but insisted that she could not be intimate with him. When Ash questioned this Misty would not respond. Logically Ash questioned if she had been victimized in someway? Misty was horrified by his question and insisted not. Ash backed off the topic, but he still had a hard time believing that. Why else would she not want to be with him – her fiancé?  
As the weeks past it seemed like the more questions he asked the further Misty pushed him away. Although she rarely raised the topic anymore, Ash knew that she still harbored anger toward him for ‘letting Shard fall’. Ash tried to be understanding and patient and sensitive and all of the things that Misty needed him to be. He was trying as hard as he could! But . . . he was also only human, and what human could not feel unbearable frustration from such an impossible situation?  
Ash just wanted HIS Misty back. He missed her and he could not be happy again unless she was. The girl he had loved all his life – the fun loving and spirited water trainer — what had happened to her?  
Ash may have rescued her body, but her soul was still locked in that Rocket prison. Ash feared that only the fallen Shard held the key.  
When Misty had agreed to see a psychiatrist Ash finally experienced a glimmer of hope. He was confident that this doctor would somehow bring his Misty back. But two months later she showed little improvement, she had only learned how to better hide her emotions. That was why she was writing now. At night. When she thought that Ash was sleeping. They could not talk about Shard without a fight ensuing, and so Misty wrote about him instead. Ash knew that she wanted to spare him watching her agonize over the fate of the Rocket. But Ash also knew that she WAS agonizing. Daily. Nightly. Always. Misty was miserable and Ash's heart was breaking. He could not stand to see her suffer like this and so damn needlessly!   
Sometimes Ash wished that Shard's body would just be found already so that this nightmare could finally end. If only there was a way to make Misty understand that this man was not worth her agony and heartache?  
Ash stretched and rolled out of bed. Pikachu was instantly alert and running in circles at his feet. Ash fumbled into his Snorlax slippers and he and Pikachu headed downstairs to find Misty.  
She was right where he expected her to be: at the kitchen counter scribbling frantically in her diary. Sam — her curious souvenir from Shard— was laying at her feet, grooming his foot scales with his tongue. Sam was one of the highest-level Vaporeons that Ash had ever seen and, as the Pokemon Master, that was high praise. Ash talked Misty into battling with him once, just as a distraction, and it took out Charizard, Muk and then nearly went toe-to-toe with Pikachu! This Vaporeon was trained by a true master. Whoever Shard was, the bastard knew how to raise a strong Pokemon, that was for damn sure. With Shard dead, his Vaporeon had become Misty’s second obsession to Shard himself. She went everywhere with him, and Sam clearly mirrored Misty’s affections.   
Sam cocked his head at Ash, noting him spying on Misty as she continued to write away her feelings.   
Ash respected Misty's privacy and had never once peered within the pages, but he was curious. He wondered what she was writing night after night after night? Well, he knew that she wrote about Shard, but he wondered about the details and he wondered about himself? Did Misty write about him too?  
Misty's hair was pulled back into a high Ponyta-tail and she was wearing a baggy white nightgown with the graphic of an Umbreon on the front. She looked very cute and Ash had to thrash back the impulse to hug her. A few months ago she would have welcomed his embrace anytime. Now he had to be careful, he had to keep a comfortable distance so as not to startle her. She startled very easily these days.  
Ash cleared his throat: "Kinda late to be burning the midnight oil, huh?" He walked over to the freezer and pulled out four ice-cream sandwiches.  
Misty's head snapped upward, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes wide with surprise. She quickly closed her diary and set it to the side. "I'm sorry, Ash. Did I wake you?"  
"Nah, my stomach was growling. You want one?" Not waiting for an answer Ash tossed her one of the ice-cream sandwiches. Pikachu took another and scurried back upstairs with his treat. Sam was happiest to devour his beside Misty.  
“Thanks." Misty fiddled with the wrapper. "You're really hungry again? I thought you had a big dinner with Brock?"  
"I did. But I'm hungry again. You know me." He smiled weakly, his dark eyes catching hers: "I miss you, Mist."  
Misty's cheeks tightened, her eyes were like wild emerald flames – it was as though they desperately wanted to be tamed – to be cooled—to settle upon his own, but they could not. "I know. . . I'm sorry Ash. I can't help it."  
"Can't help it? Really?" Ash struggled to keep his tone controlled, but he was failing quickly. "Then why didn't you just stay in bed?"  
"I couldn't."  
"You couldn't? Why couldn't you? If you have nervous energy why didn't you ask me get up, to go for a walk? To talk . . . anything that would have included me?!” Ash's hand was suddenly dripping ice-cream. He looked down to see the sandwich crushed in his fist. He let it slip to the floor, uncaring about the mess or cold.  
Misty and Sam both went ridged and stood up, as though their actions had been rehearsed. "I'm going back to bed now."  
Ash raked his fingers through his hair. His hand was trembling. "Fine. Right when I get out of bed to join you, YOU want to go back. What did I do to deserve this? I can't stand it. I – I – dammit, I love you, but. . . I need to go. I'm going out."  
"But it's almost midnight.”  
"Pika! PI! PIII!" Pikachu was now standing between them squeaking frantically – he hated it when they fought.  
"C'mon, Pikachu, I'm sure Lance won't mind if we crash on his couch."  
Ash was sure to slam the door behind him.  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
Why didn't Misty try to stop Ash from leaving?  
She should have rushed into his arms.  
She should have hugged him and kissed him and LOVED him for being there for her. For loving her when she in no way deserved it.  
But Misty did not do any of those things. Instead she stood in the kitchen and watched him go.  
Misty could not unbuild a barricade that she could not see or feel.  
Moisture lingered in the corners of her eyes . . . What was wrong with her? Why was she letting Shard come between her and Ash? Was Shard really to blame? He was not even here to defend himself . . . and that, Misty knew, was the problem.  
Misty walked over to the freezer and placed her ice-cream sandwich back in the box. She then picked up the crushed one from the floor and threw it away. Sam aided her by licking the floor clean.   
Wiping tears from her cheeks, Misty clicked on the small portable television set which rested on the counter. The 24 hour news station was on and Misty deemed it worthy background noise to distract her from her self-induced misery.   
Turning to her greatest confidant, Misty picked up her diary again.  
The news station played an exciting string of music which meant that a special report was about to be announced:   
"This is Angi Porter reporting live from Ra'Tala Island where, at the stroke of twelve, a new Sweel exhibit will be unveiled to the public. Island visitors will be treated to such activities as a Sweel petting zoo, dozens of Sweel merchandise vendors, as well as live Pokemon battle shows everyday. . ."   
Misty's eyes were glued to her diary page ,but her ears were entirely focused on the reporter’s words.  
"Cruise ships will launch from Fuchsia City everyday this week at 9AM, for those wishing a direct route to the Sweel fun! Seating is limited, so arrive early. Until next time, this is Angi Porter signing off from Channel 6 News."   
Misty dropped her diary, and then Misty herself dropped to the floor and landed hard on her backside.  
Sam jumped on her and started yapping, he was quite concerned by her dropping behaviors.   
Misty could not breathe, but it had nothing to do with her fall. She stroked Sam to calm him, but she wasn’t paying attention to him . . . Misty’s memory banks were erupting like a Cinnabar Island volcano!   
Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . . Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . .  
Misty scrambled to her feet and stared at the t.v. as though it were a bright pink Politoed. The news anchor was gone and a commercial for Great Balls had taken her place, but Misty knew what she had heard.  
Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . . Ra'Tala Island. . . Sweels. . .  
Misty's memory now spiraled uncontrollably until it pinpointed one specific moment in time that she shared with Shard . . .  
. . . he had given her a scientific journal and inside was a postcard that he used as a bookmark. The postcard was a souvenir from Ra'Tala Island. Shard had told her that the Island lay south of the Orange Islands. He had told her that his family had vacationed there when he was small. When Misty had asked him if he might go back there one day he had replied:  
"Rockets don't get vacations. But in my next life, definitely."  
But, in my next life, definitely.  
But, in my next life, definitely.  
But, in my next life, definitely.  
She could still hear his voice . . . regretful, yet jesting in her ears. He had put curious emphasis on the words. Stranger still was that Shard had made certain that Misty would see that specific postcard. Was it an accident? Was anything Shard did an accident? Had he wanted Misty to know about Ra’Tala Island?  
But there was more her memory wanted her to see . . . Shard had also been quite taken by news of the remarkable new Sweel Pokemon. He had told Misty that Sweels were real and she hadn't believed him. Of course, Misty now knew that Sweels were indeed a very real Pokemon . . . and she recalled that Shard was very interested in them, he knew all about them before she did . . .  
‘Sweels and Ra'Tala Island . . . in my next life, definitely.’  
Misty's psychiatrist had told her that: she had the ‘potential to suffer from impulsive behavior’. Misty smiled wryly at this and fully embraced her impulsiveness. She allowed impulsiveness to overwhelm her at it’s fullest force – flooding adrenaline into her veins and causing her to rush upstairs.  
Misty began searching for her passport, suitcase and Sam’s Pokeball. Tomorrow morning at 9AM she and Sam would be boarding one of those tourist boats in Fuchsia City. Tomorrow morning at 9AM they would be on their way to Ra'Tala Island to find Shard.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
"Lance, I don't know what to do. She's still obsessed with the idea that this Shard Rocket is still alive. It's like. . ."  
"It's like what?" Lance asked, handing Ash a beer and Pikachu a ketchup packet.  
Ash scoffed loudly, leaning back into Lance's couch. His friend had warmly welcomed himself and Pikachu inside his home, despite the late hour. Lance had even treated them to drinks, ketchup, potato chips, a comfortable seat and an open ear. Ash scratched the stubble on his jaw and continued: "It's like she's in-love with him or something."  
Lance shook his head defiantly, his red spikes swaying like flames. "That's crazy and you know it. Misty has loved you her entire life, Ash."  
"Yeah, yeah, you're right. But then, I dunno, then what's wrong with her?"  
"Pika pi." Pikachu offered, ketchup staining his yellow face.  
Ash nodded, agreeing with his electric mouse. "Yeah, Pikachu is right. She's not Misty anymore. Lance, I want MY Misty back. What the hell did those Rockets do to her? What did that Shard do to her? Who the hell was that guy?"  
The Dragon Master took a mighty swig from his bottle of Cinnabar ale. "I don't know. But the shrink—"  
"Psychiatrist." Ash corrected.  
"Yeah, but the psychiatrist thinks she'll get over this, right? It'll take time, Ash. Moltres-knows what kind of hell Misty endured there, both physically and mentally. For some reason she identified with that blue-haired criminal. Like the psychiatrist says: things were so awful that any shred of sympathy Shard showed her was magnified tenfold in her memory, right? One day Misty'll remember how cruel he really was to her and then things will get back to normal."  
"He did die protecting her though. . ." Ash trailed off, this fact always set him on edge. He was thankful Shard sacrificed himself, but the Rocket's motivation perturbed him. How close was this guy to Misty if he was willing to die for her? Ash shuddered, keeping these inklings to himself.  
"Doesn't matter!” Lance barked as though reading Ash's mind. "He was a dammed murderer, Ash. Look—“ Lance removed an envelope from his shirt pocket and tossed it toward Ash. “—I was going to give you these at work tomorrow. I pulled in a government favor today and had them sent. I figured they could help you with the ‘Misty situation’."  
Ash opened the envelope and emptied out a stack of photographs. There were a good dozen photos scattered across the coffee table and each depicted a blurry, black and white, but recognizable image of Elite Rocket Shard. The photos were dated and raged over the course of the four most recent years. Although the timeframes were different the scene was the same – Shard was caught in a crime. In one particular photo he was seen on a distant rooftop aiming a sniper rifle. In the next he was fleeing the scene of a crime, it looked like he had a stolen Ultra Ball in his hand. In another Shard was looking directly at the security camera and grinning . . . his expression was smug, dripping with some screwed-up sense of self-righteousness. The blood from whoever-his-victim-was was splotched across his face, but he did not seem to care. Ash frowned. He could not pry his sight from this particular picture . . .  
Shard was a young man – no older than he was. He looked so . . . cocksure . . . so arrogant about his vile deed. That haughty grin . . . it was haunting . . . it was disturbing . . . it was. . .  
"Hey, Lance?" Ash blinked, handing Lance the photo. "Do we know who he is?"  
Lance shook his head. "No, and without his body we never will."  
Ash was quiet.  
Lance cocked his head. "Why?"  
"Oh, I dunno. . . he just. . . I dunno, does he look familiar to you?"  
"Of course he does! He's in ALL of these pictures. Committing crimes!"  
"Yeah, it's just that smile. . ."  
"Disturbing, I know. The bastard was so damn smug. I can't understand how Misty, such a sweet girl, could defend him. Ah, poor thing, they really messed with her head."  
Ash exhaled wearily and finished off his beer.  
"Here," Lance handed the photo back to him, "keep it. Show it to Misty. Maybe seeing Shard in his ‘true criminal glory’ will snap her out of this?"  
Ash frowned doubtfully. "I don't know. . ."  
Lance folded the picture between Ash's hands. "I'm no shrink, but I think it will help."  
"Pi!" Apparently Pikachu agreed.  
"Alright."  
"You gunna be okay, Ash?"  
"Yes, as soon as Misty is happy again." Ash cracked open a new beer.  
"You really do love her."  
"So much.” Ash laughed bitterly. "So much that- ah, forget it."  
"What?"  
"You're gonna think I'm nuts, but sometimes I wish that bastard would turn up alive . . . just so that Misty would be happy again."  
Lance raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't think you're nuts."  
"No?"  
"I think you're drunk. Give me that!" Lance snatched the beer from Ash's hands. "Lightweight Ketchum gets no more!"  
Ash laughed. He could always count on Lance to make him feel better. "I should go. I'm just gonna walk, so don't worry about calling a car. I should talk to her. Not let our fight stew all night long."  
“That’s very adult of you.”  
“I try.”  
“Show her the photograph."  
"I will, thanks. For everything."  
"Keep an eye on him, Pikachu."  
Pikachu gave Lance the thumbs-up.  
0o0o0o0o0oo0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
Ash and Pikachu slipped quietly into the kitchen. The digital stove clock flashed 3:00 AM. Neither Misty or Sam were present which meant that they were upstairs sleeping. Ash held a finger to his lips indicating Pikachu to remain quiet. Pikachu nodded, but then scampered over to an object laying on the floor beside the bar stools. Whatever the object was Pikachu became immediately fixated upon it. Curious, Ash joined Pikachu to see what had ensnared his attention.  
It was Misty's diary and . . . it was wide open.  
Ash felt as though his limbs had turned to granite – he was cemented in place. He urged himself to just walk on past it . . . just keep moving, Ketchum! But . . . just as the stone coating his limbs began to crack, did his eyes begin to stray.  
Misty had drawn a picture, but this was not just any drawing, rather this was a realistic pen sketch of her masked obsession. The Rocket, though clothed in the same standard uniform, looked nothing like the killer in the photograph from Lance. Shard was smiling in Misty's sketch, but it was a nice smile . . . a shy smile . . . the smile of a good person, not a killer.  
Ash’s self-control shattered along with the imaginary rock encasing his limbs and, despite Pikachu's urgent tug on his pant leg, Ash picked up the diary. The Pokemon Master's eyes quickly began to scan Misty's familiar handwriting:  
‘Shard, I know that you are still alive, but nobody believes me. Not even Ash. I wish that I could tell him about you, but I know that would be a bad idea. I know how ungrounded my feelings may seem, but I miss you. I seem to be writing so many ‘buts’. But (there I go again), I think about you all the time. I can't stop seeing you fall down that ravine. I see it almost every time I close my eyes. You did save me, Shard, just like you promised. Sometimes I wish that I had fallen over the edge with you. I don't wish that I had died, but that I had simply landed wherever you are.  
‘I know that we really only knew one another for a short time but, Shard, you changed me. We are two sides of the same coin just flipping through the air and never landing. I want to move on. I want to have hope. But I can't. Without you I feel hallow. I am a horrible shell of the Misty I am supposed to be. I trust in you and I know that you are still alive. So why you haven't found me and Sam yet? I know that you can't be dead because I see the pain in your heart every time I look in a mirror. The pain is vibrant and breathing. I'm not afraid to cry, Shard, and I have. I had to watch you fall out of my life as quickly as you came into it. Not knowing where that river took you will haunt me until I find you.  
‘I need you to know that I love Ash. I have always loved Ash and, for a long time, I thought that he needed me. But now I'm only hurting him more and more everyday that he has to watch me yearn for your fate. I now know that Ash doesn't need me. I know something else too, Shard: I know that you want me to think that you don't need me either. But you do need me. If you didn't then my reflection would not be so wretched – so lonely. I know now that we need to see each other again. I need to see you and I need for you to fill this empty void inside me. I'm so tired of being a hallow shell. I'm so tired of longing for you and feeling you long for me from so far away. You know where I am, but I have no idea where you are. But I do know that Ash deserves better than this. I do love him. Of course I do. But Shard, my feelings for you are real, too.   
‘I told my psychiatrist that I have feedings for you. In fact, I told her that I was falling in love with you. And she said that I had an unhealthy infatuation and nothing more. That you 'represented kindness when I had none' and 'that I only loved the idea of kindness, not actually you'. If you ask me she's the crazy one though. She says I don't need you. If I don't need you then why can't I stop thinking about you, dreaming about you, longing for you? Longing to be in your arms again. Why can't I stop wishing that I had never pushed you away when you kissed me?   
I'm not stupid, I know the situation you must be in. But, if nothing else, I need to know that you're okay. Until I know that for sure I will continue to exist as this hallow shell. Wrong or right, I need to know. Wrong or right, I developed feelings for you in that Rocket base. I always believed love had to grow and be groomed over time. Now I know that love can sprout within you and you have no control at how it grows or feels. Kinda of like that Cupid guy, you get struck by an arrow and you’re done for. Someone once told me that: ‘it is when you are not looking for love that love finds you’. My feelings for you — whatever they are now, and whatever the have the potential to become— are insatiable and painful and beautiful and real and I need to feel them as much as I need to find you. I need to know that I truly did save you, Shard. As long as I know that you're okay, I think I can go on with my life, even if that means without you in it.’  
Ash slammed the diary shut. It became a scalding Charizard scale in his hands and his fingers trembled. The diary was agonizing to hold, but he would not let it go. For months Ash desperately needed to know the true source of Misty's heartache – her depression – she would give him answers . . . he never liked her answers. He heard Misty speak, but he failed to LISTEN to what she was saying . . . he thought she was loosing her mind . . .  
Ash pressed the diary against his chest and his heartbeat wailed violently against it —as though his very heart wanted to pound the diary, to break it!  
He felt so hot . . . so terribly hot . . . sweat dribbled down his brow, his nose . . . his forehead. Had Ash been stricken with a flu? Too much Cinnabar ale? He was not even sure that he was breathing.  
Despite the anguish Ash pressed the diary harder into his chest . . . it was like a curse had adhered the thing to his hand.  
Pikachu was squeaking frantically at his feet. What was Pikachu saying to him? Ash looked up . . .  
Upon the stairwell was Misty. She was holding a suitcase in one hand and Sam’s Pokeball in the other. She was staring at him. Her sight was fastened to her diary in his hand.  
Ash regained control of his lungs and breathed deeply. Confusion and anger waging a great war upon his handsome features.  
Misty's stare seized his in a blaze of fury. "Ash! What are you doing here? I thought you went to stay with Lance?"  
Ash was not intimidated by Misty’s temper as he once was. Instead he overwhelmed her fury with a rage of his own. He blatantly ignored her question and pointed to the suitcase. "You were gunna leave? Where are you going with that suitcase, Misty?"  
Misty bleached slightly. "I have to go to someplace."  
Ash stormed toward her like a Whirlwind Attack and tore the suitcase from her hands. "WHERE? Where are you going? To find Shard?"  
Misty nodded, completely unfazed by his anger. "Yes. I know where he is."  
"Dammit!" Ash threw her suitcase to the ground, nearly cracking it. "He's DEAD, Misty! That blasted KILLER is dead!"  
“No! He isn't! Shard is not dead!" Misty crouched down and snatched her suitcase from the floor.  
Pikachu was hiding behind Ash's legs, trembling.  
Misty continued and her volume was sure to rouse every Pokeball in the house: "I know where he is! Please, Ash, understand that I have to go—"  
"Why?" Ash sliced her words. "Because your heart told you where to find him? Because you’re falling in love with him? What the hell?"  
"Bastard!" Misty shoved him backward. Ash gasped, tripping over Pikachu and landing on his rear end. Misty had wailed on him far harder during spats in their youth. This shove did not injure him, just startle him considerably.  
"You read my diary! That's private! HOW COULD YOU?!”  
Ash quickly climbed to his feet, rubbing his sore backside. "It was an accident!You left it wide open on the floor. You NEVER leave it out anyplace. It's like you wanted me to see it. I only read the last page anyway . . ."  
Misty shook her head, entirely distressed she turned away from him. Several moments sizzled by in silence before Misty spoke: ". . . You're right, Ash.” She faced him, the anger had burned away, leaving only sadness.   
Ash's breath hitched in his throat, it tortured him to see her like this, so broken. He wished that he could hold her again, that his arms – his lips – could somehow ease her pain, put her back together. But Ash did not bother to try. He now knew that saving Misty was something that he could never do.  
Misty continued: "Maybe I did want you to read it. I don't know. So now you know. I have feelings for him. I'm . . . I'm so sorry, Ash . . .” Tears filled her eyes and Misty buried her face within trembling hands.   
"But Misty, he's dead.” For the first time— and Ash had said that line hundreds of times— the reality in the words pained him to speak.   
"No!" Liquid sorrow erupted, smoldering down her cheeks like clear lava. "Shard isn't dead. I know that he's alive. Ash, I promise I'll be back soon. I have to look for him. I have to try."  
Shard's image burned continually within her eyes, blackening her view of all else. Ash knew that he could not clear the smoke, so instead he reached forward and touched Misty's cheek, gently smoothing her tears away. "Am I going to loose you to a ghost, Misty?"  
Her lips parted but no words came.  
"I already have though." Ash answered for her, a sad smile pulling his lips. "Okay, what the hell, go. I won't follow you. Just promise me something?"  
". . . of course."  
"Tell me where you're going, call me to check in, AND promise that Misty will come back. My Misty – not the broken one standing here now."  
". . . of cour—"  
“No." Ash interrupted, his somber smile becoming severe. "Really, really promise me that my Misty is still in there someplace and she can come back. I know that you aren't going to find Shard, but I pray that you'll find yourself. I love a girl I met nearly fifteen years ago. She was full of life. She smiled. I just want to know that that girl can come back, no matter what it takes. I can't pretend to understand why you have romantic feelings for that Rocket, or why you are so sure he's still alive. But if chasing a ghost helps you heal, in some small way, I want you to go."  
Misty reached forward and took Ash's hand in her own. "Thank you, Ash."  
He nodded, trying to hinder his own tears. “Here." He handed Misty the folded photograph of Shard from Lance.  
"What's this?"  
"It's a picture of Shard. The real Shard. Not the one you’re so smitten with.”  
Misty eyed Ash cautiously. "No thank you." She retuned the photo, without a glance. “I don’t need to see this. Unless you saw his eyes, you never saw the real Shard."  
Misty leaned forward now and her lips gently grazed his cheek. Ash stiffened . . . merely accepting her kiss. Just as he had to accept Misty's need to go.  
"I'll be in Ra'Tala Island.” Misty offered him a faint smile. "I don't know for how long, but at least a few days. Goodbye, Pikachu. Goodbye, Ash.”  
Misty pulled her diary from Ash's hand, where it lay over his heart, and took it with her.  
Ash exhaled as Misty shut the door behind her. He picked up his shaking electric mouse and kissed him on his yellow head.  
"Let's go to sleep, Pikachu."  
For the first time in months Ash had seen a glimmer of his Misty again.  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
Ra'Tala Island was spectacular. It truly was the tropical Island getaway promised in Shard's postcard. Beaches framed the island as far as the eye could see. The sand was so white it looked like crushed pearls and the water so blue it looked like liquid sapphires . . . just like Shard's eyes.   
Ra'Tala was a small Island, but bustling with diverse people and exciting places. The Island took about ten hours to reach by boat from Fuchsia City, but it was well worth the trip. The locals referred to Ra'Tala as the ‘Island of Eternal Sun’ as it experienced a nighttime of only four hours. Yet even here, in the land of eternal sunshine, Misty was staring into darkness.  
Misty's boat had docked on Ra'Tala three days ago. She and Sam were staying in a modest, touristy hotel directly on the southern coast. The view from her room window was nearly identical to the scene on Shard's postcard: tropical trees, waves and sun. This made Misty smile, knowing that she was seeing something that Shard once loved. She only wished that she could share the islands beauty with him.  
Misty and Sam spent at least eight hours a day walking the island from shore to shore in search of Shard. On the first day she scoured the central market and shops. Sweel displays decorated every shop window, and Misty knew that Shard would love it here!   
One particular shop sold the latest issue of ‘Water Pokemon Monthly’, and it featured the Sweel. Misty bought it for Shard, just in case he didn’t have it yet. She had begun her quest by asking both locals and tourists alike if they had seen her young man. However, when they asked for details on his appearance, Misty did not know how to respond. She knew that he was just over six feet tall and that he was lean, muscular and very handsome. But, other than that Misty knew nothing for certain. Was Shard's hair still blue? Or had he perhaps dyed it again? Maybe he had black hair like Ash now? Maybe it was red like Lance's? Was it even spiky still? Maybe he had cut it short? Or even shaved it off N.K. style? Were his eyes blue or had he covered them with tinted contact lenses? One woman asked Misty what his name was, and even that question she could not answer. She dared not utter the name ‘Shard', but she was clueless as to what other possible alias he might be guised beneath.  
After questioning several people and getting absolutely nowhere, Misty decided it best to just look for him herself. She trusted that her heart would recognize Shard even if her eyes did not. And, of course, Misty was counting on Sam’s keen sense of smell to help point her in the right direction.   
Although Ra'Tala was not a large island it was dense. There were buildings piled within the center and the outskirts were scattered with cabana cabins. It would take Misty weeks to search it all. The task was daunting but she was determined to try. She had to.  
On the second day Misty decided to wander the beaches. There were four public beaches on Ra'Tala and two private ones (which she had managed to buy her way onto). Sam was having a grand time running along all six beaches! He swam and swam and swam, and Misty smiled and smiled and smiled as she watched him in his element! Sam’s scales glittered like a disco ball of emeralds and sapphires beneath Ra’Tala’s sun. Like Misty, Sam had been depressed since Shard vanished. But being here —sun, waves and sand — reenergized the Vaporeon’s spirit. Seeing Sam so blissful was beginning to reenergize her spirit as well. Sam had been her closest confidant over the past two months. Not Ash, not Brock, not even her sisters or her own Pokemon understood her yearning for Shard. Sam alone shared her aching for Shard. Sam alone shared her steadfast belief that Shard was still alive.   
The only downfall of the beaches? That would be all of the non-Pokemon occupants. Misty was disgruntled to see honeymooning couples in every direction. Everywhere she turned joyful pairs were walking hand-in-hand or kissing out in the waves. One couple was even getting married beneath the sunlight on a high rock. The sight of these romantic duos caused guilt to chafe at Misty . . . in all rights, she should be here with Ash. And then guilt further assaulted her because . . . she really wanted to be here with Shard.  
Her imagination wondered: what might it be like to stroll hand-in-hand with Shard down the beach? The warm sand in their toes as the sun set upon their backs? She knew how he feared water, but maybe one day she could teach him how to swim with her? How wonderfully romantic it would be to hold one another in the waves . . . to kiss upon the Island of Eternal Sun! Misty could still remember how Shard's hand felt within her own: strong enough to crush bone, yet tender enough to smooth tears from her skin. His simple touch could send shivers of terror through an enemy and shivers of passion through her. Shard was powerful and intimidating and beautiful and . . . where was he?  
Misty refused to believe that Shard was merely an apparition in this island’s memory.  
Today was the third day and Misty decided that she would go back into town, but this time she would visit the live Sweel performance shows. Maybe there was a chance that Shard would also attend a show? It was even possible that he was working at one. With his advanced Pokemon knowledge, Misty could easily imagine Shard working as Sweel trainer. There were three Sweel shows being offered at the aquarium battle arena today: noon, four o'clock with the last at eight. Misty bought tickets to all three. She was fascinated by the Sweel's so much, that she knew she would not tire of the same show three times. In between shows Misty planned to dine at the aquariums café and tour the various water Pokemon exhibits.  
Misty strolled through the town, it was only a short walk to the Sweel arena. Sam was running around her in jovial circles one moment, and then pawing at a small Krabby the next, and then off retrieving a coconut shell, and then wrestling with a local Poliwag! My goodness, he was busy! Exploring and darting around like a carefree baby Eevee! Misty’s eyes were going to need a hot pack after straining to keep up with him! Next Sam and the Poliwag zig-zagged past her and around several tropical tree trunks.  
Although she had not found Shard yet, Misty was starting to find something else . . . the spark of enjoyment in life again. It was just her and Sam, no psychiatrist, no Ash, no pesky sisters, no one to tell her what to do or how to feel. She spent her days dabbling in pleasurable activities and feeling the sun upon her skin. For the first time in months Misty was beginning to relax. She had turned her cellphone off the moment she arrived on the island.  
However, Misty now remembered that she had promised Ash she would check in. Misty had been so busy she had completely forgotten to call. Biting her lower lip Misty pressed her phone on. She knew that there would be dozens of voicemails from Ash and her sisters – probably from her job, her landlord and her psychiatrist -– but, Misty planned to ignore them all and simply call Ash. Just tell him that she was okay and turn the phone right back off.  
The phone rang several times before Ash picked up:  
"Misty?" He sounded surprised, but clearly relieved.  
"Hey, Ash! Sorry I haven't called. I've been really busy."  
"You sound great. How are you?"   
"Oh, I'm doing great! This island is just beautiful. And the Sweel exhibits are out of this world."  
"That's awesome! Don't forget to bring me a souvenir!"   
Misty could almost see Ash grinning over the phone, she laughed.  
"I've had my eye on a little Sweel action figure for you. It sprays water when you squeeze it."  
"I want it!"  
"Haha! You know, you could fill it with ketchup and let Pikachu play with it too."  
"I want it!"  
"Okay." Misty smiled against her phone. "I have to get going, the Sweel battle show starts in a few minuets."  
“That sounds awesome! Have fun!”  Misty knew that Ash meant it. "I really hope everything is going good, Mist."  
"It is."  
". . . You find what you're looking for?"  
"Not yet."  
"Well, take as long as you need. But don't start seeing ghosts, Misty. Ghost are ghosts, they can't come back to life, you know?"  
Misty sighed quietly, Ash was trying. She could never expect he would fully understand. "I'll call you again soon. Goodbye, Ash."  
"Bye, Mist. And tell Sam I said ‘HI’.”  
She powered off her cellphone. Speaking of Sam . . . where was he? He’d just been chasing that Poliwag a moment ago. Misty scanned her surroundings: beach to her right with smooching couples. Town to her left, with people shopping and dining. She saw a Krabby, a Squirtle, even a Machop. But there was no Vaporeon in sight.  
Trying not to overreact, Misty cleared her throat and called Sam . . . several times. It was not like him to ever leave her side for a moment, let alone—how long had he been gone?  
Misty felt the icy fingers of dread creeping up her spine. If anything happened to Sam . . . anything at all . . .   
“Vap-vap?” Came a small, sheepish bark.  
Misty exhaled like she’d been underwater for a year!   
Sam raced toward her, skidded to a stop and panted heavily against her knees. He peered up at her, but then quickly glanced away as though unable to meet her eyes. Sam was trembling. He must have sensed how upset Misty was and he felt ashamed for causing her undue worry. Misty bend down and wrapped her arms around Sam, soothing him, but still he trembled. Still he would not look at her.   
Misty pulled out Sam’s Pokeball and recalled him. He’d had a lot of excitement over the past few days . . . more than he had in the past few months. He was overdue for some downtime. Misty would watch the Sweel battles alone today and Sam could join her next time.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Hours later Misty had to admit that the Sweel shows were impressive. She had enjoyed each one immensely! She had never seen a Water-type Pokemon launch Grass-type attacks before. The Sweel was a natural marvel. Aside from the Sweels trained for the shows and the petting zoo, there were no others in captivity. The rest were still wild and open catching season was not to begin for six weeks. Misty planned to come back to Ra'Tala then and catch a Sweel of her very own. Throughout the shows Misty would squint each time a male trainer stepped into the arena. She hoped against hope that Shard would be one of them. He never was. Her theory that Shard was working behind the scenes as a Sweel trainer was K.O.’d along with the demo Pokemon the performance Sweels battled.  
Still, despite not finding Shard, Misty left the show grinning from ear-to-ear. A plush Sweel doll swinging from her right hand a Sweel action figure from her left. She felt like a young girl leaving a Poke’carnival again.   
As Misty left she arena a large wall sign caught her attention:  
NOW HIRING  
Sweel Training Director  
Must have extensive knowledge + expertise in training Water Pokemon.   
Qualified candidates may apply at the front office.  
Adrenaline quickened Misty’s pulse. She loved her director’s position on the Orange Islands. Living and breathing Island air everyday . . . training and swimming with water Pokemon and getting paid to do it! She never thought any other career position could temp her beyond that one. But this one did. Ra’Tala Island did.   
Misty’s daydreams were interrupted as her stomach began to grumble. She decided to take a detour before going back to the hotel. She would pop into a small pub which had been advertising their incredible menu of cocktails and ice creams on banners throughout the Sweel shows. Right about now Misty could go for one of each! She was starving and thirsty. Her modest meal at the café earlier was long gone from her stomach.  
The pub was called The Stuffed Sweel Bar and Grill. It was located just off the beach and was— apparently— the most popular joint in town! The place was packed. Misty slipped inside and found herself pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with the many other patrons. Wriggling like an Ekans, Misty managed to squeeze her small frame into an open spot at the bar.   
She smiled wholeheartedly as her sight absorbed the fun-loving scene around her: every direction boasted a good time! There were people clothed in everything from business attire to bathing suits and all were laughing and dancing about the floor. A live band played in the corner; they had an excellent tropical techno sound. Misty couldn't help but sway along to the beat. There were about twenty tables scattered about the room and all were jam-packed with customers who seemed to be greatly enjoying their dinners and ice creams.  
"Good evening, Miss! What can I get for ya?" Asked the bartender, whose name tag read 'Carl'. He was a kindly-looking older man of about fifty years. Carl grinned at her, bobbing his head in sync with the music.   
"I'll have the Ra'Tala ice cream special and the Sweel Island Mojito, please!"  
"Good choices! Anything for your little friend?" Carl pointed to her plush Sweel toy and winked.  
Misty giggled and scratched her Sweel on the head. "He's going to share with me."  
Carl quickly mixed up her Mojito and presented it with pride. The little umbrella cocktail accessory even had a Sweel face drawn on. "Here you are! And the ice cream will be right up."  
Misty flashed Carl a gleeful grin. She set her purse on the counter and took a huge sip from her glass – the Mojito was delicious! It was citrusy, minty and packed just enough punch of rum! Misty folded her skirt beneath her and kicked off her sandals below the stool. Comfort was suddenly of the utmost importance, and Misty planned to enjoy her time here to the fullest existent!  
For a moment she considered getting up and dancing barefoot about the room with the other guests but, reflecting on her outfit, she decided against the impulse. Not only would she lose her place at the bar, but her blue miniskirt and white mid-drift top were unsuitable for dancing. If she got spinning around too merrily then her skirt might accidentally flare up or her top droop down. She was feeling like a free spirit today, but not THAT free!  
As promised the ice cream was delivered promptly. Misty devoured it at a rate that would even impress Ash. It was incredible! A blend of vanilla and citrus flavors with a cookie crumble mixed in. Within several minutes Misty had finished both her ice cream and Mojito. Now she was not only feeling a tad tipsy, but a tad hungry for real food as well.  
"Excuse me, Carl?" Misty yelled, waving to him across the counter.  
"Refill?" He hollered back, eying her empty glass.  
“No thanks. I'm good on the alcohol, I don't wanna be stumbling down the beach. But do you have any soup specials?"  
"Yes, we're serving a fine bowl of broccoli cheddar soup."  
The smile faded from Misty's lips . . . this was the same soup flavor Shard had given her in the Rocket base. It was both of their favorite.  
"Miss?" Carl shook his head at her reaction. "Do you want some? It's mighty good. I'm certain you'll enjoy."  
"Ah, but be careful," came another male voice from behind her, "often those things we regard as certain can surprise us with their uncertainty."  
Misty stiffened as though her little plush Sweel had just sprayed her with ice.  
Carl laughed and began enthusiastically shaking hands with this person behind her. Next Carl started playfully scolding this someone for daring to mock his prized soup.  
"Just kidding, Carl, the soup is awesome. You know I order it every day. Please serve us up two bowls."  
And now this someone had just ordered her a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup . . .  
The bartender seemed very happy to see this person and went blithely off toward the kitchen to place the order for their soup.  
"Nice plushy toy ya got there. I guess you finally believe me about the Sweels then?"  
Misty could not move.  
She simply sat on her stool.  
She stared forward at nothing.  
She became immediately sober.  
Her body went so rigid that even her lips were like stiff thin curls of ice.  
Now a warm body maneuvered himself onto the barstool next to her.  
Misty somehow managed the strength to shut her eyes and breathe. She took a mighty breath, filling her lungs to their maximum capacity and then exhaled. She did this three times before a modest amount of strength began to unthaw both her body and mind .  
And then Misty turned toward the man beside her . . .


	13. Chapter 12: The Finale

Chapter 12: The Finale

The man beside Misty was young, about her age, and bronzed from endless hours beneath Ra'Tala's sun. This young man had his hair styled in a wild array of brunette spikes. He was clothed in a pair of tropical swim trunks and a white t-shirt, which adorned the graphic of some rock band on the front. The t-shirt was fit snugly enough to flaunt the firm, muscular body beneath it. Misty's sight now lingered upon his face . . . he was handsome. No. Beyond handsome. She had never seen such a beautiful man in her life . . . and he was smiling at her. His smile was welcoming, it was confident and dimples played low on his cheeks.   
But his eyes . . .  
His eyes were bluer than the sea surrounding the island.  
His eyes were twin cobalt thieves, each captivating a piece of her heart.  
His eyes reflected the same desperate longings within her very soul.  
"Is it . . . you?" Misty was barely audible above the band, but she knew that he had heard her.  
The young man’s grin deepened and his eyes flared with anticipation. He reached out his hand and casually took a hold of Misty's. There was no glove on his hand. Misty could feel him. Large hands, strong and hot within her own. A searing euphoric-burn ravaged Misty’s flesh — spreading like literal wildfire from her fingers to her face. Misty blushed fiercely, her cheeks reddening as though a Magmar had grabbed her.  
“How-how-how—” Misty stammered, her words lodged upon her tongue like cubes of ice. But if he continued to hold her hand, those ice cubes would soon melt.  
”Hi, I'm Gary. I believe we met at the Sweel exhibit earlier today?"  
Heartbreak was a disease that Misty had been slowly suffering from. It plagued her ever since Shard took Giovanni's ten bullets and fell over the ravine.   
Gary Oak she knew had died nearly ten years ago, and yet here he was before her now. Shard had died just months ago, and yet here he was also before her now. Misty narrowed her eyes, studying every detail of this handsome enigma's face. Maybe this young man was neither Gary Oak or was he Elite Rocket Shard? Maybe this beautiful stranger was instead his own person, for the first time in his life? Maybe he just maintained a little bit of the other two? Enough of Gary Oak to charm and draw her in, and enough of Shard that Misty knew she could easily fall in love with this man, and she would do anything to be with him.  
"Miss, you do remember me from the exhibit, right? I was that guy with the dashing-good-looks who sat next to you?"  
Misty eyed him curiously, but nodded along with his odd fictional tale of their ‘meeting’ earlier in the day. She was no fool, she understood that –- for whatever reason— she needed to play along with his strange verbal disguise. Perhaps he was nervous that the wrong person might overhear them? Misty was no secret agent, but she knew that both the authorities and the Rockets believed him dead. The wrong eavesdropper could equal his death. For real this time.  
Gary's fingers squeezed her own, gently stroking her palm. That euphoric-heat blazed far beyond her checks now. Every uncovered inch of skin carnally broadcasted the effect he had on her. Misty was suddenly thankful she at least had some clothes on. The entire pub didn’t need to know that she was hot for her soup date!  
“Miss?” Gary raised an amused eyebrow. He must have been impressed that Misty could damn-well change color like a Kecleon! No doubt her skin matched her hair right about now.   
“Y-yes.” Misty cleared her throat, using every once of self-restraint to keep from launching into his arms and bombarding him with questions (and kisses). "I-I do remember you. I never forgot."  
"Been thinkin' about me, eh?" Gary flared his eyes, smirking flirtatiously. He then began pulling his hand from hers. Misty gripped his fingers tightly, trying to protest their removal. He winced at her Tentacruel-like constriction, but managed to tug them free.  
“Oww." He silently mouthed.  
Carl stood before them with two bowls of steaming hot soup. Apparently Gary just wanted his hand free to accept the food.   
"Oh, look out for him, Miss!” Carl chuckled. “He’s quite the odd recluse this one.” Misty actually laughed – half out of bliss and half out of shock that 'Gary' already had a reputation when he should be very dead.  
"Thanks for the heads-up, Carl.” Misty smiled . . . it felt surprisingly natural. "I kinda had a feeling he was odd."  
“C’mon Carl! I might be a smidgen odd, but you neglected to tell this cute young lady that I’m also: charming, clever and witty. Don’t try an block my game, old man!” As Gary defended his case, his bare leg blatantly brushed Misty’s beneath the counter top. Despite all of her efforts to wear ample sunscreen, her poor skin was unmercifully burned red-hot. Ra’Tala’s famous sun was like a tea light compared to the powerhouse-heat smoldering off of Gary Oak!   
"Well, one thing ya said was true: she is cute! Hahahaaaa! And, Mew knows, Gary, you need all the help you can get.” Carl looked at Misty and winked. “I think I’m his only friend. He’s odd and pathetic!”  
Gary shook his spikes of hair, laughing: “Get outta here, Carl, or the only tip you’ll get is her Sweel doll.”  
“Haaaa! No thanks, we have enough of them around here! Alright kids, enjoy your soup while it’s hot!” Carl handed them each a spoon and napkin and chuckled off toward his next customer.   
Misty should have asked for cold soup or maybe for a bucket of ice? On second thought, no point. If she’d touched cold soup it would have burnt, and an ice bucket would’ve been ripe for teabags!  
Misty began sipping her soup, though her stomach was no longer hungry at all. It was her sight that was ravenous to greedily study Gary. Misty did not dare to even blink, and her eyes were starting to feel very dry. She did not want to risk reopening her eyes and he being gone – vanishing like the ghost Ash had warned her about.  
"Soooo creepy-non-blinking girl, what brings you to Ra'Tala?" Gary asked nonchalantly, tasting his soup.   
Misty ignored his ‘creepy’ remark, now finding his tanned forearm quite distracting as it moved to pick up the spoon and raise it to his parting lips. Misty bit her lower lip, finally daring to blink and relieve the agony of her dry eyes. Fortunately Gary was still there when she opened them. He was eyeing her with extreme interest.   
Misty leaned into him so that he could better hear her answer over the music: "I came here on a search."  
"For buried stolen treasure?" Gary teased and took a large spoonful of his soup.  
"I'm searching for the man who stole my heart."  
Gary's eyes snapped open wide! Raw startlement gripped him and he suddenly began choking on his soup! Gary reached across the counter and seized a fistful of napkins, he then coughed and spit the remainder of his mouthful into it. Misty bit her lip again and carefully pat him on the back, trying to discourage his choking. Gary set down the soiled napkins and wiped his chin with another, his eyes were red-rimmed from nearly loosing his breath to a blob of cheese.   
Misty was blushing fiercely – again! That was not the reaction she had expected from her confession. She certainly had not come all this way to watch him officially die via soup!  
Gary glanced at her and raised an eyebrow again . . . but this time it was skeptical. His sight slid from her face to the engagement ring which she still wore.  
He cleared his throat, expression unreadable. "Is your fiancé staying on the island as well?" Gary spoke with calm collectedness. Misty could not at all gauge what he was thinking.  
“No, he isn’t here.” Misty struggled to keep her voice neutral. She was becoming increasingly frustrated with this odd charade. She had questions for Gary: how are you alive? Where have you been? Why haven't you been in contact? What about Team Rocket? Why are you here? Have you been thinking about me? Why haven’t you been back for Sam? Misty smothered a small scream! How much longer could she 'play strangers' without exploding? “He’s at the Indigo Plateau. I told him that I had to leave. I’m not happy anymore. He knows that I have feelings for someone else, and that I couldn't move on with my life, in any direction, until I found him."  
Gary abruptly shot up from his barstool. He threw a wad of cash upon the counter and seized her hand in his — pulling her to her feet and with him toward the door!  
Misty hardly had time to grab her purse! Gary led her brusquely through the thick crowd of dancers. She trusted him, though she had no idea where he was taking her. She just hoped it was someplace private so they could finally talk.  
They exited the pub and entered into a spotlight of sunshine. It was probably late at night, but the sun would not set until at least one in the morning. Gary wove his fingers with hers, his touch was gentle but urgent. He continued to walk quickly. Misty nearly tripped trying to match his pace in her bare feet – her sandals were still under the bar where she had kicked them off.   
The pub was located on the most popular beach, it was crowded as though people expected a legendary Pokemon to appear. Misty wanted to start questioning Gary about ‘Shard's fate’, but she coached herself to maintain self-control a while longer. The discussion was not safe until all strangers were beyond earshot.  
Gary began to decelerate considerably as they neared the seashore. The sun hung low on the horizon like a ripe red Apricorn. It cast a glowing shadow upon the water, painting the sea amber. The sand was like volcanic ash between Misty's toes, but she relished it. Feeling the heat proved that this was no dream or hallucination. Misty was truly walking along this shore with her lost Rocket. Gary's hand reminded within hers as they walked. Misty wished that he would never pull away from her again.  
They walked in silence. Misty stared ahead in the direction they were headed. Gary was leading her to a nearby wharf which connected to a series of fancy cabana cabins along the shore. There was an underlying necessity in Gary's steps as he neared these cabins, and Misty could only assume he was taking her to one.   
She was surprised in herself for not demanding answers from him now. How could she just let him take her to some mysterious place without question?  
But, honestly . . . Misty no longer cared.There would be time for her questions eventually. For now she simply wanted to savor this precious time with him. She would go anywhere with this man.  
Gary's blue sight focused only upon his destination. He did not look at her once as they walked. However, the stroking of his fingers upon her palm became more vital, more intense . . . more intimate. Misty shivered, her stomach muscles involuntarily clenching. Gary must have felt her shiver because a small satisfied smile teased his lips. Misty matched his expression, she could not take her eyes from his face. Dark lashes framed his bright blue eyes, creating a seductive contrast. Misty did not miss his mask one bit, she loved his naked face.  
Gary licked his lips slowly, almost nervously, and Misty barely contained an impulse to grab and kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her — to reassure her that he was real, that he was alright, that she was finally complete again.   
No one had believed her, but Misty had known all along that he had endured. However damaged her heart had been, it had never stopped beating. At times it seemed to carry an unbearable burden, as though it were pounding for them both.   
They were now only a few yards away from one of the cabins. Gary reached into his pocket and fished out a key. In a moment they stood at the door of one of the nicer tropical homes she had seen on the island.   
Gary unlocked the door and in one swift motion he pulled Misty inside, slammed the door shut and pushed her up against the wall! His hands pinned her shoulders back, his knee spread her legs and held her in place!  
"Hey!" Misty gasped loudly with surprise and squirmed against him. "What are you—"  
Gary apprehended her words with his lips.  
His mouth was against Misty's like a steaming tidal wave – crashing with passion, surging with desire and flooding her mouth with his carnal aching for her. Gary's lips caressed hers with such urgent need — such genuine devotion — that Misty’s knees physically buckled. Gary sensed this and his hands slid to her waist. He gripped her hips, lifting her off the ground and holding her up.   
The skin to skin contact was intoxicating beyond a thousand Mojitos! Gary’s hands moved expertly from her hips to her backside, and he firmly cupped her ass. The fabric of her skirt did nothing to shield her flesh from his body heat.   
Gary took her lower lip between his own and sucked with painstaking skill. He was breathing aphrodisiacs directly into her body— her bloodstream lit like he’d taken a match to the rum still present in her system.  
With her back against the wall and her legs around his torso, Misty sized fistfuls of Gary’s hair for support. Her fingers greedily frisked through his thick hair, tilting his head backward so she could control the direction of their kiss. Misty dared to taste Gary more deeply, for she could not taste his lips enough. She could not breathe his breath enough. She could not feel his skin against hers enough. She needed the gratifying relief that only Gary’s lips — his hands — his body— could bring her with his pure and undeniable desire.  
Misty was becoming short of breath, but did not dare to remove her lips from his. She would give Gary all of the breath that she possessed. She wanted to breathe all of her life into him if it, in some way, would assure that he would still be breathing tomorrow.  
Gary's tongue began flirting dangerously with her own, and Misty interpreted this as a travel pass. Her fingers freely roamed from his hair, down his muscular shoulders, to his firm chest, and down his stomach . . . her fingers traced the outline of his hard abdominal muscles.   
Masculine hands strayed downward, venturing from ass to thigh, finding the edge of her skirt he teased the fabric up — his fingers testing the line between her skin and undergarment. Misty arched her back, whimpering — needing his hands to become as bold as his tongue. Her fingers were possessed by wanton impulse, and they boldly dared south. Gary’s swim trunks were about as thick as a bed sheet, and through them Misty could blatantly feel how much he wanted her. That huge gun Elite Rocket Shard toted was not making up for any other shortcomings. If anything, it served as a warning of what else he was packing. Misty stuck her fingers into the seam of his shorts, pulling down. He moaned into her mouth, his own fingers sliding beneath her undergarment, claiming two handfuls of her bare ass. Misty moved her hips eagerly against him. She was gasping, tugging downward, ready to relieve him of his burdensome trunks entirely—-   
But Gary dropped her, pulling suddenly away.   
Misty’s feet hit the floor and she gasped. Her lungs were desperate for air, but not as desperate as her lips were to continue tasting him. The euphoria his mouth fed her was addictive and she needed more!  
Gary was also breathless and a sultry blush tinted his tanned cheeks.  
"I'm sorry.” Gary attempted to cover his groin area with one hand and his mouth with the other. He panted as though he'd just wrestled a Machamp and won. "I shouldn't have done that. I just meant to frisk you, to make sure you weren't bugged, but . . . I just had to kiss you, Misty. And I lost control. Forgive me?”  
Gary took several cautious steps away from her. His brow creased as his mind began operating at Jolteon-speeds.  
Misty followed him like a stalking Arcanine, her skin— her very bloodstream— was scalding hot and she wanted to keep burning until she boiled over. Misty covered ground quickly, closing the distance and grabbing his hand.  
"I want you to. Don’t you dare apologize and don’t you dare stop touching me." Misty pulled him in close, and her hands circled his neck. She stood on her tippy toes and trailed small, hungry kisses down his throat, upon his chest.  
Gary failed to stifle a groan and Misty grinned into the crook of his neck. Her prey surrendered . . . he lowered his face and Misty was able to capture his lips within her own. Gary allowed her passionate assault on his mouth for only a moment before he turned the tables. He cupped her face in his hands and transformed their kiss from one of lustful savagery, to that of sweet innocence. Gary kissed Misty with such thoughtful, gentle yearning that it nearly brought tears to her eyes.  
The kiss ended as no more than a mild brush of lips across lips and then . . . he walked away from her.  
Misty stiffened as Gary went toward his kitchen and busied himself with boiling a pot of water. She was breathless, her heart about to self-destruct Electrode-style. Misty forced herself to inhale, trying to control the raging emotions within her.  
Her sight began bouncing about the cabin. It was large and completely circular with high domed ceilings. The room had a kitchen area on one side and a living room on another. There were two other doors along the far wall—probably leading to a bathroom and bedroom. The cabin was decorated nicely with an island theme, including tropical potted plants and furniture carved from native wood.  
And . . . not quite fitting in with the ‘vacation’ decor were some other accessories. The presence of firearms. A lot of firearms. Big guns, small guns, several knives, a sharp metal stick—ohh, that was a sword. Misty's eyes widened: Gary had at least twenty-five different weapons piled upon the couch and flooring, most she could not even identify. There was also chemistry set bubbling away on his kitchen counter and five Pokeballs filling a fruit basket on his coffee table.  
“Have a seat.” Gary's voice drew her attention at once. He pulled out a chair at his kitchen table for her. Misty sat and Gary placed a steaming cup of tea in her hand.  
Now did Misty's dozens of questions come pounding back. But, before she could ask any of them, Gary took the verbal lead:  
"Misty, I've been following you for two days now, making sure you weren't a decoy or being tracked or even a hallucination. I wasn’t even sure that I was going to make myself known to you at all, until . . .well, Sam discovered me earlier today. I was tailing you both and he caught my scent and found me. Luckily you were distracted on your phone. Once reunited with Sam, I knew that you two were real and not a trap, not that I was losing my mind. I swore Sam to secrecy, I needed to reveal myself when I was ready. And now that I have, Misty, I really, really need to know: why are you here?" He sat down opposite her now, his eyes pleading for an honest answer.  
"Why am I here?" Misty repeated curtly. "Why are YOU here?"  
"I'm hiding out.” Gary said matter-of-factly and took a ginger sip from his teacup. “Team Rocket can't know that I'm alive. They'd never stop looking for me if they did."  
"But you were shot TEN times. You fell off a CLIFF!"  
He raised both brows curiously. “Yet you knew I wasn't dead. How?"  
"I don't know.” She replied honestly. "My heart wouldn't let me believe it. Shard—"  
"Gary."  
"Gary, my heart wouldn't let me give up on you."  
He held her stare earnestly. His lips were reddened from their vigorous kissing session. "I've thought about you, Misty, everyday.”   
Misty's heart leapt in her chest, but she stuck to her guns: "Why aren't you dead?"  
Gary shrugged carelessly. "Well, quite actually, I should be dead. In fact I partly was dead. That’s how I survived.”  
“What—?”  
"Let's just say: heaven didn't want me and hell spit me back out." He smiled lightly, jostling his own spikes of hair.  
"I'm serious!"  
"So am I. I was partly dead and that's how I survived. Misty, do you remember my lab back on the Rocket base? I told you I was working on something top secret? Something that was one-of-a-kind?”  
“Yes, that Gengar-colored potion on the burner? I remember. You were so stuck-up and mysterious about it. And that Electric-type potion you showed me . . . it was incredible!”   
“Yes, it was incredible.” He continued without any modesty. “But what I created in that purple tube is far more stunning than the Electric-type potion. Misty, I recreated my grandfather’s Ghost-type property potion. The one he gave to Lance's Dragonite to takedown the monster Pokemon. Remember it?”  
"Of course I do! But you said that NO scientist has ever been able to reproduce his creation. It was too brilliant."  
"Well, yes. But I was referring to all other scientists, not to myself.” Gary Oak’s classic smugness leaked into his tone. It made Misty smirk in spite of the graveness in his words. “I did recreate it,” he went on, “after my grandfather died I broke into his lab. The authorities had already searched his lab over thoroughly. They wanted possession of his chemical equation. But they never turned up anything. Granted, they didn’t have the advantages I did. I grew up in that house and I’m trained thief. That’s the same night I took my Blastoise back, and some of my other original Pokemon too. Together Blastoise and I found his notes and they were classic gramps: disorderly and utterly brilliant. I read the equation, memorized it and then Blastoise obliterated it. The recipe for that potion was too dangerous to wind up in the wrong hands. So gramps’ equation is safe only inside my head. And I’ve been secretly working on it’s recreation for years. The Electric-type potion was one I made first— an easier, safer ‘test’, if you will— to determine if I could even manipulate type DNA to begin with.’  
“Gramps had originally created the Ghost-potion to use on himself. He wanted to somehow find me in the afterlife. My motivation was the same. I never got to say goodbye to him, to apologize for destroying his life. I wanted to use the potion on myself so that I could find him in the afterlife, even if only for a moment . . .” Gary cleared his throat of the building emotion. “Fast forward, I brought the potion with me when we went to meet up with Ketchum. I didn’t necessarily plan on using it. I brought it with me because I wasn’t going to return to Team Rocket ever again, and it was my life’s work. I destroyed everything else in my lab. Anyway, after I told you to run to Ketchum, I knew that shit was about to get really ugly. I knew I might take a bullet at some point— didn’t expect ten of them— but I digress. As you ran everyone's attention left me, and they were instead focused only on you. I took that opportunity to inject the Ghost-type properties into my arm. Basically, the potion gradually and temporarily transforms the user on a cellular level. It changes the user’s cell structure to that of a Ghost-type. I had never tested it, no human had. I had no idea what it would do to me. But I knew my Electric-type potion was safe. And I knew that the Ghost-potion had made Lance's Dragonite impenetrable to permanent harm. It had repaired any damage he’d sustained as long as the potion was in his system. So . . . I chanced it. And, quite honestly, as Giovanni was shooting me over and over and over again, I was pretty certain that it wasn't going to work. I fell backward and I remember hitting the water.”  
Gary shuddered lightly at the memory. "Then I blacked out. I scarcely remember floating, but not through the water, through the air. I was floating past people and places at an incredible speed. I had no idea where I was going, I couldn’t control my direction at all. But I could hear the whispers of people and Pokemon who I knew where long dead. I wasn't afraid though, because I remember feeling like . . .” Gary winced against emotion and pushed his story onward: “I remember feeling like my gramps was with me. And not just him, my-my . . . parents too. And gramps, my parents, they weren’t upset with me. Not angry or even disappointed. All I felt was love and pride. And those sensations — whether they were hallucinations or real— are what I survived on until my cell structure could properly reconstruct and re-materialize me again.’  
“The next thing I knew I was washed up on a nearby island. I’d somehow traveled over 600 kilometers in the span of a few hours. I stood up and, amazingly, I had no gunshot scars or wounds of any kind. I had some money in my pocket and used it to secure a boat ride to Ra'Tala and check into a motel. I dyed my hair back to it’s natural color, knowing that my blue spikes were recognizable. I trashed the Rocket uniform and I burned all of my Rocket credit cards. If I ever tried to access one they'd know I was alive. Instead I took a gamble at unlocking the old Oak savings account. Apparently Gramps never changed the passcode after I disappeared. He's been gone for so long I would highly doubt if anyone was monitoring the accounts balance, so I emptied it. I bought this cabin with cash and all of these weapons— you know— just in case. I've been living here with the Pokemon I fell over the ravine with. I have Blastoise and you,” he gestured to her purse and smiled, “have Sam in there. Thank you for taking care of him. Anyway, I'm not working or anything, I can't risk a job where anyone might see me or require my identification, since I have none right now. I do plan to purchase a new identity a some point. I just need to space out my suspicious purchases."  
Misty shook her head, struggling to comprehend Gary's synopsis of the past two months. “By Mew, you actually recreated the Ghost-potion. Why didn't you tell me you had it in your pocket? Before we got out of N.K.'s car? That would’ve saved me a lot of sleep these past two months!”  
"I tried to hint at it in the car. Remember: I did tell you about the potion? I couldn't risk just flat out telling you I had it in my pocket. Rocket cars are bugged with audio surveillance.”  
Misty nodded carefully. “I do remember you bringing it up. I just wouldn’t have guessed anything like that. Wow.”  
"Yeah, double wow. Here I am. The living dead." Gary hummed a spooky tune.  
"Don't joke!" She slapped the tabletop, spilling her teacup. "I've been worried sick about you, Shard-Gary or whoever you are! Why didn't you contact me? I've been miserable! I've made Ash's life miserable! I've missed you so much!"  
"I missed you too. So much."  
"Then why?" Misty's voice broke. She felt the threat of tears again, but refused to let them flea. "You could’ve come to me! Or at least contacted me!”  
"And done what?"  
". . . Asked me to be with you?"  
"I asked you that question once before, my dear, and you declined. Remember? Why would I put myself through that rejection a second time?”  
"Kiss me again."  
"No."  
"No?"  
"Yes, no."  
"Why?"  
"Well for starters, that engagement ring you’re wearing. You love Ketchum. And I know that he loves you. I know that he trusts you."  
Misty paled as guilt sliced her morale clean in half. Ash did trust her, and she had just betrayed him emotionally and physically. However, the pigment quickly to her face. She did feel guilty, but she was not ashamed of her feelings. Feeling what she did for Gary was freeing for her very soul. Misty owned the feelings, she openly shared them with Gary and — as hard as it would be —she would owe up to Ash as well. “I do love Ash. I always have. But I also have feelings for you. What I feel for you is . . . different. It’s intense. An intensity I’ve never felt for Ash."  
"I believe you." Gary smiled sadly, his eyes going dim. "But we can not be together."  
"Don't you want to be with me? To see what could be? Where our feelings might lead? Gary, I’m falling in love with you. I’m falling hard and I don’t want to stop.”  
“This is not about love, Misty. Or infatuation or lust or whatever this thing is between us. It’s about safety." He held her sight a moment, regret evident in his own.   
“Safety my ass!” Misty shot upward, slamming her palms on the tabletop again, now spilling his teacup! “Infatuation? Lust? SERIOUSLY!? Is that all you think is between us?! That’s Tauros-shit, Oak, and you know it! Man-the-hell-up!”   
Gary bleached, his sun-kissed skin suddenly taking on a more vampire hue. He joined her standing and took Misty’s hands over the tabletop easing her back down into her chair. He shut his eyes, and it seemed to Misty a very long time before he opened them again.   
Finally, Gary sighed. His expression was neither defeated or victorious. Rather, Gary looked blissfully . . . relieved. “I think that . . . I’m falling in love with you, too, Misty. I don't want you to leave. I don’t even want to think about you in Ketchum’s arms. Him kissing you . . . touching you. I . . . I would do anything to be with you. Give anything –my heart, my life—my everything. But we both know that my everything isn't going to cut it. You have a life of promise – of safety — with Ketchum. If you leave him , if you stay with me, you’ll be constantly looking over your shoulder. We could have to run and flee for our lives at a moment’s notice. I can never go to social events with you or meet your family or even been seen on Kanto again. No one who knew me before, either as Gary Oak or Shard, can ever see me. What if I was recognized somehow? I'd be thrown in jail or assassinated by the Rockets straight away. The world must believe that I’m dead. A life with me is a life of danger. It’s no life at all.” Gary grit his teeth, as though continuing to speak was physically painful. “You’re already miserable because you had to give up your dream job to be with Ketchum. The outcome would be identical if you stayed here with me. This would be a life where you may have to give up everything that you love, well, except for me.” He grunted with sour amusement. "Misty, I won’t let you throw your life away for me." He dropped her hands and Misty felt as though he had just slammed her heart into a pit of spikes.  
"Whatever I would have to give up . . . it would be worth it. You are worth it, Gary.”  
"Not if the Rockets found me."  
"Stop it! They won't find you!"  
"But they could. I'm good at hiding, but it's always a possibility, Misty. If they find me they'll murder us both and I can guarantee it’ll be a brutally barbaric way to go."  
"Not as painful as my life has been without you!"  
"That's wonderfully flattering and dramatic, but no."  
Misty was either going to burst into tears or bust his head through the tabletop! Maybe both! She had longed for Shard-Gary for months, and now he was rejecting her!?   
“Dammit, Gary! Why did you kiss me then? Why are you doing a sudden 180 degree turn!?”  
Gary answered her question with one of his own: "What about Ketchum?"  
"I told Ash I went looking for you."  
“Ketchum is no brainiac, but even he’ll deduce that you found me if you suddenly up and leave him to move here. He'd hunt me down himself, Misty. I'm a fugitive!"  
"No, Ash wouldn't come after us. Not if I asked him not too. He loves me too much."  
"Exactly, he's not going to let you run off with some criminal ex-Rocket."  
Misty bolted upward and around the table! Her hands snagged twin fistfuls of Gary’s hair. She shook him as though she were trying to shake acorns from a real Oak tree! “LISTEN TO ME! I can see the sunshine again. For the first time since you fell off that ravine, I can really see it everywhere. I'm alive again. I do love Ash. I’ve loved him since I was a kid and I don’t want to hurt him. But it's not the kind of love that Ash deserves. And it’s not the kind of love that I can survive on. It’s not that kind of love that can survive you. I can not let you go again. I won't. My time in the Rocket base did something to me. You did something to me, you changed my entire life. I never thought that I could want another person so much that my heart can't even beat right without him. I’ve never felt anything this intense for Ash. The love I share with him never stood a chance again what I feel for you right now. If my love for Ash were strong, or meant-to-be, or if it was even enough, I would not be here right now. I know what I want! I know who I want! And no one —not you or Ash— gets to decide for me! Neither one of you gets to ‘allow’ me a damn thing!”  
Despite the agony Misty must have been causing his scalp, Gary was expressionless. His hands slid upward and gently peeled her death-lock from his brunette locks. Her knuckles were white and her fingers trembled within his own.  
“Just stop it.” His words were so hushed they barely reached her ears. Gary cast his sight to the floor and set her hands on the tabletop, away from him. “It’s getting late. You can stay here tonight, in my room. I'll crash on the couch. But you need to leave tomorrow and not come back. You may not care about your own safety, Misty, but I do. Plus, you being here puts me in danger too, and I’ve had enough of it for two lifetimes. Oh, and Sam stays with me.” He looked at her now. Misty flinched as though her retinas had endured frostbite. His eyes were unfeeling, cold and hard as blocks of ice.   
Elite Rocket Shard had returned.  
Misty visibly trembled, tears of frustrated rage building in her eyes. She picked up her purse, pulled out Sam’s Pokeball and hurled it at Gary with force that would put a Marowak to shame! She was irritated when he caught it, she had wanted to clock him in the face! Make his lips swollen from something other than her own! ”Fine, Gary! Just give up!”   
“Are you finished acting like a Stomping Tantrum Mankey?” Gary spoke curtly, as though addressing a bratty child. “Spilling our teacups, banging on the table top? Trying to nail me with this ball?!” He shook out his hand. It was clearly sore from the force of her throw. Good.  
Her nostrils flared. “Carl was right: you are pathetic, Gary. Trying to push me away with your douchebag act! Well, try harder, because it’s not going to work!”  
Gary scoffed, arms crossing and eyes rolling. “Me pathetic? Have you tried a mirror?”  
“That’s my line!” Tears blurred her vision and Misty knew she was moments away from flooding his cabin with liquid heartbreak. “Why are you acting like this? Why?”  
Gary melodramatically yawned and pointed toward a door on the right of his cabin. "The bed is comfortable.” His tone was like a robotic hotel receptionist.   
“Fine. I’ll go to bed like a well-behaved Mankey,” she mocked his earlier insult. “But I want you to read this.” Misty reached into her purse and pulled out her diary. "I've been writing letters to you in here for the past two months. Ash accidentally read the last entry, so keep that in mind when you get to it. And be warned: there are secrets in here. Secret things that Giovanni told me, things about you . . . things I should have told you sooner, but I was selfish."  
Gary reached out and casually accepted the diary. If he were curious, his expression certainly didn’t let on. “Okay, I'll look at it."  
"Since you Oak’s are so fond of sayings, I've got another one for you, Gary. I picked this one up from your father: ‘they say it's when you're not looking for love that love finds you’. Goodnight.”  
Now did Gary Oak look puzzled indeed. “My . . . father?”  
Misty turned, head held high and walked into his bedroom. Her tears hit the carpet before she could even shut the door.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
“Vap? Vap-Vaaaap?”  
Misty awoke with a start! Her heart was raging behind her chest! She'd been having another nightmare . . . Shard had fallen off the ravine . . . he was gone . . . and. . .  
“Vap?”  
“Sam?” Through the darkness Misty’s fingers found his familiar soft nose scales.  
Misty glanced at the clock radio. It was 3:04 AM. But it wasn't her clock radio or the one in the hotel. Fingers still using Sam’s nose as an anchor to reality, Misty sat up. Grogginess disoriented her . . . why were she and Sam in a strange bed?   
“Vaporeon!” Sam’s shrill bark jolted Misty’s memory. Yesterday's incredible events pounded her mind like a Machop's fist!   
Misty was in Shard's bed! Well, Gary Oak’s bed, and he was alive! In fact, only a mere doorway separated them. He was sleeping on the couch right now. Or rather, he was supposed to be sleeping . . .   
The bedroom door was slightly ajar and light from the living room leaked through. Sam must have pushed his way inside to check on her. Was Gary still awake? Maybe he was reading her diary?   
Despite Gary’s earlier ‘Dickosaurs act’, Misty knew that he wanted to be with her –- he had said so himself. He might be stubborn as a sleeping Snorlax, but Misty’s diary was going to force-fed him an emotional Redbull.  
“Vap!” Sam encouraged her to get up. Even within the scant light, his silhouette was clearly restless. And that restlessness was contagious. Gary reading her diary was a very mixed-blessing. He would read more than fifty letters which she had penned him. Some were emotional train-wrecks. Others purely expressing her longing and feelings for him. And some were even slightly . . . erotic . . .  
Each letter was scribbled during Misty’s different emotional states over the past two most painful months of her life.   
Misty's many heartsick letters were not the only double-edged sword within those pages: she had written Giovanni’s story as well. By now Gary would know everything: that Giovanni was his real father. That Giovanni had masterminded his chronic depression and suicide. That Giovanni had arranged for his perfect son to become the Rocket heir.  
Misty started toward the bedroom door, nervously smoothing the fabric of her clothing. She had helped herself to one of Gary’s oversized t-shirts to sleep in. It fit her like a very short baggy dress.   
Sam led the way and Misty followed him into the living room.   
Gary was sitting on the couch. His posture slumped and he was indeed nose-deep in her diary. In this moment her heart beat faster than when Giovanni had raised a gun to her face.  
Gary seemed so intense . . . so focused.   
Should she disturb him? His back was to Misty and he did not react to her presence. She took a step backward and bumped into Sam. The Vaporeon’s back fins stood at full attention and he narrowed his eyes into slits. When Misty did not advance toward Gary, Sam next curled his lip, showing a glint of sharp white fang. Her turning around was not an option. Sam was herding her forward like a common Mareep!  
Misty studied Gary again. Sam was wrong, she should not interrupt him. Gary was obviously concentrating . . . she should go back to bed, she should leave him be . . . she should . . .  
Gary's shoulders were trembling.  
Trembling just ever-so-lightly . . .  
Misty took a step forward, then another.  
Gary buried his face in his hands and the impenetrable Elite Rocket began . . . to cry.  
His sadness escaped in hushed gasps. Gasps which were drenched in raw heartache. Gasps that he was desperately trying to muffle.  
Misty felt Sam’s familiar wet nose on her hand, nudging her gently.   
She didn’t need any additional convincing.   
Misty went to Gary.  
Sam instinctually retreated to the bedroom. This was private human time.  
Exerting tact so as not to startle him, Misty learned over the back of the couch and placed her hand on his shoulder. Gary stiffened at her touch, but he was not surprised by her presence, after all, it he was Elite Rocket Shard. Sneaking up on and surprising him would be almost impossible.   
Gary did not rebuke her and so Misty moved around the couch and sat beside him. He made no effort to look at her or to conceal his tears. Undaunted, Misty took his hands and interlaced their fingers. This skin-to-skin contact was like the snap of a hypnotist’s fingers, jolting him instantly from a far away trance. Gary looked at her and Misty almost wished that he hadn’t. Before her was a masterpiece of despair.   
Gary’s eyes became vulnerable twin seas, and what swelled within these seas was dangerous. The realization that the seas were wrought from water and ice and could never become part of the land. Never, no matter how much the seas may love land and long to join it. Misty no longer cared if Gary saw her weep, and she allowed her own sea to break fully free.  
Perhaps together they could learn to dive wholly beneath the dark depths? Perhaps together they could endure beneath the cruel waves?   
Perhaps together Gary could learn to live without the land, and discover and embrace who he truly was?   
Perhaps together he could stop fearing, stop resenting, and rather forgive himself?  
“C'mere." Gary reached for her, his voice barely a breath. Strong arms enfolded Misty and she was willingly pulled in with the tide. She nuzzled against his chest and relished his mighty heartbeat beneath her ear.  
“Did you read it all?" She asked, fingers curling anxiously with the fabric of his shirt.  
“Twice.” He replied at once. “Your feelings for me are legit, huh?”  
“Very legit.” Misty smiled into his chest, enjoying his warmth upon her face.   
His heartbeat quickened beneath her ear. “I've done so many terrible things in my life. But, Misty, but you prove that I've done something right."  
She raised her head, facing him seriously. "You are a good person, Gary. Elite Rocket Shard, and the things that were done are in the past."  
"I know . . . and after reading this," he set her diary down on the coffee table, "I also know that my father is to blame for much of it." He shut his eyes, attempting to properly translate thought to spoken word. After a moment he wiped the remaining tears from his face, and continued: "I'm a killer, a trained killer. But now I'm not sure that I ever had a chance to become anything else. I remember the first time I killed a man. Giovanni was with me, coaching me through it. The man was a Rocket prisoner. I have no idea who he was or why he was there, but I remember he was young, not more than thirty, and he had green eyes just like you . . . they were terrified eyes. He was handcuffed and gagged and standing in the center of a dark room. Giovanni handed me a gun and told me this was my test to go from grunt to Rocket. I was sweating. My fingers were stiff on the trigger. But I . . . I couldn't let him know. If I disappointed Giovanni the consequences would be unspeakable. Grunts who failed their initiation were never seen again.'  
"I was seventeen, old enough to know that this was wrong. Killing was wrong. The man was screaming beneath his gag, trying to plead for his life . . . he didn't want to die. But Giovanni placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered: ‘Between the eyes. That's the best way, shoot him right between the eyes.’  I had been trained to shoot targets and stuffed dummies, but never someone alive. Yet I raised the gun and did just that. The man's head . . . it . . . it . . . blood was everywhere and Giovanni just laughed as the man’s body crumpled to the ground. He was twitching, and I remember it took several seconds for him to stop. My knees almost buckled. I fought to keep my control despite the bile rising in my throat. Giovanni simply pat me on the back and said: 'Nice work. You're a natural, kid. Keep it up and you'll go far in the company.’ He said that as casually as though I'd won a dammed spelling bee. I thanked him for his faith in me and I took my leave. I vomited as soon as I got back to my room. I felt better after that. I assured myself that the man must have done something very wrong against the Rockets and deserved to die. I justified it to myself.’  
“I was becoming part of the machine. I did what I was programmed to do and stopped thinking. I became an expert killer after that. I saw the ghosts of my victims in my sleep, but soon learned to ignore even them. I just numbed everything out. I became cold when I was ordered to kill, I had too. It was them or me and I wanted to be the best. Now I can admit that I was just weak . . . I was weak to allow Giovanni to drug me to begin with, to make me depressed . . . to succumb to his dugs. I never had a chance because I was weak."  
"I'm sorry, Gary. You're not a machine, you’re not weak, you’re just a human. Giovanni took advantage of you in the worst possible ways."  
"I have killed people, Misty. More people than I dare to tell you about . . . knowing this, how can you care for me?"  
Misty raised his hand and kissed it. “I care for the man, not the killer he use to be."  
"You saved me, Misty. If I hadn’t met you— ”  
"We saved each other."  
"Your letters," Gary pointed to the diary, "they were beautiful.”  
“I meant every word. I’ve fallen for you. Hard.”  
“As have I for you. It just happened so fast.” Gary playfully crinkled his nose at her. “You swept me off my feet, girrrrrrl. Didn’t see ya coming and my heart didn’t stand a chance."  
Misty giggled. “Remember what I said earlier in the kitchen? It was a saying from your fath— well, Giovanni: when you're not looking for love, love finds you."  
"We gotta layoff the sayings."  
Misty giggled again. "Yes, but it's true."  
“Then it’s the only good thing my father ever said.”  
“And my feelings are real. I want you in my life, Gary. I want to at least try. I can't lose you again."  
"Then we need to talk about Ketchum.”  
"He was your friend once, wasn't he?"  
“Yes-ish."  
"Did you trust him?"  
“ . . .Yes.”  
"We tell Ash the truth. Everything. He hates Shard, but I know firsthand how much he loves and misses Gary Oak. Your funeral destroyed him. I know you two never got along perfectly, but you share a lifelong bond.”  
Gary’s posture went ridged and his expression cautious. "I don't know. Your safety is going to be a huge issue. One that Ketchum and I will actually agree on.”  
"We tell him everything.” Misty insisted. “I know that you want to protect me. I know Ash wants to protect me. I know that there are no guarantees about my safety if I'm with you, but that is my choice to make. I didn't have a choice when I was in the Rocket base, and my life hasn't been my own since I've left it. Now it's my turn to take charge. This is my life and I want the chance to explore what I’m feeling for you. So you, Ash and my psychiatrist can shove your opinions up your asses.”  
"I read all about your psychiatrist . . . I'm sorry for what you've had to put up with. Everyone thinks your nuts for believing in me."  
"I never cared what anyone else thought. I always knew you were alive."  
Gary gathered Misty into his arms and laid a chaste peck of endearment upon her brow. As his lips retreated, a frown laid upon them now. “How come you never turned in Giovanni?"  
“Gary . . . didn’t—didn’t you hear that Giovanni . . . died? They say he had a fatal heart attack—"  
Gary scoffed, severing her words. "You know as well as I do that he's no more dead than I am. He's covering his ass because you know who he is. So why haven't you blown his cover? I read the news and I've seen nothing about it."  
"I've been trying to protect you. I've been afraid that blowing his cover would cause him to blow yours."  
"But I'm dead. What would it matter?"  
"That's not all . . . Shar—"  
"Gary."  
"Gary, keeping his secret is all the leverage I have to continue to keep you safe.”  
“I don’t follow.”  
“If I betray Giovanni’s secret, and he even suspects that you survived somehow, then I am truly afraid that he would be more determined to kill you to get back at me. Father of the year.”  
"This is so messed up. Providing he really was my father and that wasn't just another lie. It’s not like I can go run a DNA test.”  
"He wasn't lying, Gary, you should have seen his face when he was telling me the story about your mother . . . I believe him. I'm sorry."  
"Wow."  
"Double wow."  
Strong arms tightened around Misty and she sighed, snuggling into his chest and savoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. “Ever since I kissed you, Misty, you had me. All of me. I knew from that moment that I would die for you. I know how selfish this is, but I can't let you go either. If the Rockets find me I will die to protect you again if I have to. I don't want you to leave. I don't want you to be with Ketchum.”  
Misty could not have squeezed Gary’s torso any tighter without his head popping off. She held his body as though he were a rope suspending her above a pit of flames. “Tell me that you'll help me tell Ash everything, the truth.”  
"You said that Ketchum read that last – and especially potent — diary entry?"  
"Yes, he did, by accident. Ash already knows how I feel about you. I care about Ash too much to lie to him for the rest of our lives. I can't tell him that he's my 'everything' when I'm really longing for you. Ash deserves better. There is no easy way here. But I do know that Ash loves us both, he's the most unselfish person I know and he will keep your secret. But we have to tell him because I won't just disappear on him and leave him wondering if I'm dead or alive."  
". . . Okay. Call him in the morning. Tell him to come. But if he threatens to squeal I'll have to kill him."  
"Gary!"  
"I'm kidding, sort of.”  
"Jerk."  
Long, masculine fingers ran through her ginger locks and Misty quivered. Gary may as well have combed her hair with a Pikachu paw. His mere touch sent stimulating trails sizzling through her. His hand cascaded downward until it landed upon Misty’s chin, gently tipping her face up toward his own. Their lips were a breath a part, and Misty found the distance to be entirely unacceptable. She leaned upward and pressed her lips against Gary's. He retuned her kiss, his lips moving torturously slow and with such sinful finesse. A lusty quiver tore throughout her, causing her very stomach muscles to clench. One of his hands remained steadfast, securing her chin — holding her mouth at the perfect angle for him to enjoy her— explore her more deeply. His other hand could not be seen, but Misty’s felt it. He gripped her upper thigh— her bare upper thigh. His borrowed t-shirt was no more than a short nightgown on her. His hand caressed her gently at first, but as his lips gained boldness so did his fingers. They slid, with languid precision, from a point above her knee to a point mere inches from where she desperately wanted them to venture. Misty whimpered against his mouth, one of her own hands landed upon his and she grabbed it, impatiently guiding him— granting him permission— to please touch her. Misty’s other hand latched onto the band of his trunks and she pulled down as tough she were yanking a fire alarm!  
Gary laughed against her lips, amusement halting his hands from performing any naughty ministrations. “Damn girl, you just can't wait, can you?” Much to Misty’s dire disappointment, Gary’s hand retried from her thigh and found her shoulder instead. “I read those diary entries you wrote, the x-rated romance novel ones: starring me— the dashingly handsome rogue— stealing into your bedroom during the night, taking you into my arms and sexually ravaging you.”  
Misty blushed furiously. She had many fantasies about Elite Rocket Shard over the past two months, and her psychiatrist encouraged her that it was healthiest to get them out of her head and into her diary. “Those were just harmless fantasies."  
Gary squinted accusingly. “Harmless? They sure didn’t have a harmless effect on my . . .” he looked downward, gesturing to a prime example very obvious within his trunks.  
Misty laughed, raising a curious eyebrow. “You understand, of course, that I will need to investigate, Mr. Oak. I’d like to examine the effects of my creative writing firsthand and with my own two hands . . .” Misty hands were like heat-seeking missiles, heading directly for his trousers again.  
Gary's own hands was quickly upon hers, disengaging her lewd intentions. “Wait!" He yelped, almost panicky. "I can NOT believe I'm saying this, but, we can't do this. It’s not right . . . we need to talk to Ketchum first. You are still his fiancée. I want you, Misty, so badly that I’m crawling out of my damn skin. But, Ketchum . . . deserves . . . better.”  
Misty flushed deeply with shame, fully knowing that Gary was right. Ash did derisive better, a hell of a lot better. "I'll call him in the morning and ask him to get on the next boat." Misty relinquished her hands from their trouser targeting. Gary watched her fingers depart with gurgling agony.  
"Go to sleep, Gary." Misty snuggled against his chest, inwardly urging her hormones to dissipate. “I’ll sleep here with you, if that's ok?"  
"Yeah, it's fiiiiiinnnneeee.” Sarcasm drenched his tone. “I'm sure I'll sleep like a Drowzee with your body pushed up against me. You tryin’ to kill me, girl?”  
Misty simply laughed in response. Gary lay an innocent kiss upon her forehead, then reached for the lamp and pulled the chord.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
"Hi, Ash. Sorry to call you so early."  
Ash yawned into his cellphone and he glanced at his alarm clock. It was barely six in the morning. "It's ok, Mist, what's up? How are you?"  
"I'm fine! I'm so happy here, Ash . . . I could just about burst!"  
"I can tell," he stifled a second yawn and sat up in bed. "I can't get over how great you sound."  
"Isn't it wonderful?"  
"Must be some island . . ." Ash trailed off . . . there was something different about her. "So . . . um, you come to terms with . . . everything?"  
"Ash, I need you to come here to Ra'Tala Island as soon as you can."  
"What?" Ash was wide awake now. "I mean, of course I will. But, Mist, everything is okay, right?"  
"Better than okay, Ash. But it's important that you come right away." Her voice was still chipper, but Ash detected undertones of anxiety. It was the type of anxiety that could be both good or bad or both.  
". . . Okay. I'll get on the next boat. I'll be there by this evening."  
"I'll meet you at the dock. Thank you, Ash."  
"Mist?"  
"Mmhum?"  
"Are you really happy? Right now?"  
"More than ever."  
"My whole life, Misty, that's all I've wanted for you . . . you know that right?"  
"I know. I love you for that Ash."  
"I love you too . . ."  
"See you later."  
“Wait! Do I get my Sweel action figure when I come?" Ash joked nervously.  
“Yup, got it right here. Goodbye, Ash."  
Ash dropped his cellphone and picked up Pikachu. He held his electric mouse tightly, needing something tangible to hold onto while his mind spiraled out of control.  
"Pi?" Pikachu looked uneasy, but relaxed and let Ash cuddle him.  
Ash turned to his friend: "Misty's voice said it all, Pikachu. I know that she didn't find Shard, but she has obviously found something else on Ra'Tala . . ."  
"Pika pi?"  
Ash shook his head. "No, Pikachu. But I'm afraid that she may have found a life without us in it."  
Ash layback in bed and pulled a pillow over his eyes. He needed to think . . . there was just something in her voice . . .  
Never had Misty sounded so relaxed and at ease. She had found something on that island, something that made her come alive again. Ash was thankful to whatever had become the source of her joyful rejuvenation, but still, he was nervous. She had gone from chronically depressed to extremely gleeful in a matter of days. Was that normal? Natural? Even healthy? What had happened? Misty sounded like an entirely different woman than the bitter and confused one who had left.  
Ash grunted as Pikachu stomped across his body, trying to rouse him. But Ash was too consumed by thought to scold his mouse.  
It wasn't possible that Misty had found Shard . . .right? It just wasn't . . . no way. But perhaps she had somehow made peace with his death? Perhaps she had come to terms with everything she had been through? But how did she do it in so few days? How had some island healed what the world's best psychiatrist could not?  
Ash tossed the pillow aside and raked his hand tediously through his hair. He loved Misty. He loved the Misty he had just spoken to on the phone—confident, self-assured, happy. He did not love the one he had been living with for the past two months – depressed, detached, heartbroken. He could not spend his life with that woman, she was not Misty. She made him lonely . . . she turned him into a short-tempered Granbull. He wanted his Misty back. But a timid voice in Ash's head warned him of a terrifying possibility. What if, when the Rockets had taken Misty away, they took his Misty away from him forever.  
In her diary she wrote that she still loved him, but that somehow, she had developed feelings for Shard as well. Ash did not know how that was possible, but he knew that it was true. Misty had willingly given the happiest part of her heart to Shard, and when he fell off that ravine he took it with him. Ash would go to hell if he thought that he could find Shard there, and take that special part of Misty back. But it wasn't that easy. Nothing was easy anymore. Ash had unwittingly become the sharpest thorn on her emotional vine and Shard was the only bloom.  
It really wasn't possible that the island had actually given her . . .  
No, no way.   
He was a ghost.   
Ash took Shard's photograph from his pocket. He'd been carrying it around for days . . . he couldn't stop staring at it . . .  
Great, Ash berated himself, now I'm becoming obsessed with him too. What is it about you that gets to people, Shard?   
Ash stared hard at the photograph: Elite Rocket Shard was just smiling with that horribly arrogant smile. So haughty, so obnoxious . . .  
There was just something about that smile that Ash could not shake free from . . . it haunted him. It reminded him of someone he knew, but Ash could not pinpoint who or why. He put the photo back in his pocket and pulled his suitcase out from under the bed.   
At 9:00 AM he would be on a boat to Ra'Tala Island.   
"Pi? Pi-pi Pikachu?"  
"No, Pikachu, stay here. I’m going alone.”  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
The Pokemon Master smiled as the tepid sun rays embraced him. He was perched upon the bow of a large passenger ship and having a delightful time leaning over the railing and feeling the sea spray upon his skin. Ash was less than fifteen minutes from docking on Ra'Tala Island now. He had been on board for several hours, yet he wasn't at all in a rush to leave. He felt as though he were on a mini-vacation. For the first time, in a long time, Ash was able to simply enjoy being alone. Responsibility had been whisked away on the ocean breeze.  
Ash had even left Pikachu at the plateau with Lance. Pikachu was not pleased at first but —when Lance promised to take him out for lunch and share his condiments— his attitude changed. His electric mouse decided that Ash would be okay by himself after all, at least this once.  
Pikachu would have been a dead giveaway of his identity for the other passengers. And Ash really wanted this excursion to be a secret. He was wearing a dark pair of sun glasses and traded his trademark baseball cap for a dorky straw one. If one person figured out that The Pokemon Master was on board, his peaceful trip would be ruined. He'd be swamped for autographs and then the media would get wind that he had left the plateau . . . they'd follow him around and Misty would be furious. She really hated being in the limelight, and Ash knew that she only tolerated it for him.   
So far so good. Ash was keeping to himself on the upper deck. The other passengers were, thus far, too preoccupied with excitement over soon seeing real live Sweels to notice him.  
"Sir?"  
Ash jumped like a Hoppip as a hand tapped his shoulder. He whirled around to see a cocktail waitress carrying a tray of drinks. The girl was probably about twenty, a petite attractive brunette who probably raked in tips from the men on board.  
"Um, yes?" Ash asked, lowering his head and hoping she did not recognize him.  
"Drink, sir?"  
"No thank you."  
The girl stared at him.  
Ash ignored her and turned awkwardly back toward the water.  
"Can I have an autograph? Or better yet – a selfie?"  
Ash ground his teeth. Damn. She identified him! He silently cursed his sunglasses, they'd nearly cost as much a Great Ball and for what?  
He faced the waitress, forcing a ridged grin. "Okay, but only if you promise not to tell anyone I'm here. And don’t post the pic on social media for a few day, okay? Listen, I really just need some peace and quiet."  
The girl nodded enthusiastically and wiped out her cellphone faster than a Marowak could throw a bone!  
"Gosh, you're so handsome!” She swooned, setting down her cocktail tray and standing next to him. The waitress held out her phone for the photo. "Say ‘Chansey’!" She sang. Her phone made a familiar electronic beep, indicating the selfie was a success. She checked her cell display to be sure the picture had turned out. Apparently she was satisfied because she put her phone in her pocket and grinned. "You're traveling alone? Where's your fiancée? How's she doing anyways? They say she's kinda lost her mind."  
Ash sighed, there was no escape. "And I'm about to lose mine.”  
The waitress chose to snub his rude comment. "Well, she sure is one lucky woman. I'd love to scoop you up in a heartbeat. Gosh, are you EVER handsome. Even more so in person than on t.v.! I’m totally fan-girling!”  
Ash blushed, he'd never quite gotten use to female attention. “. . .Thanks.”   
She sighed dreamily, retrieved her cocktail tray and pranced off.  
Ash wondered why his mere presence could delight and impress a perfect stranger, yet he failed even make Misty smile.  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0  
Misty was waiting at the dock as Ash's ship pulled into the harbor. He waved to her enthusiastically and she waved back with equal gusto.  
Ash was wearing dark sunglasses, a straw hat and a festive tropical shirt with shorts. Misty giggled, he was trying so hard to blend in as a casual tourist and not be The Pokemon Master for once. Considering that Ash was currently by himself, and not being swarmed by fans, he had obviously been successful with his 'disguise' thus far.  
Misty met Ash as he stepped off the boat ramp. He immediately enfolded her within his arms and hugged her. Misty hugged him back, but quickly released his body and took his hand instead.  
"Mist, you look great! You're all rested, relaxed and even tan!” Ash grinned, flaunting his classic boyish charm.  
Misty couldn't help but return the expression. "I am happy, Ash."  
"I'm so glad. What changed?"  
Misty squeezed his hand. "Come with me."  
She led Ash toward a small outdoor café which was situated just a few yards from the harbor. There were an inviting set of tables outside, and Misty thought that Ash would much prefer outdoor dinning to indoor after such a long boat ride. She selected a private table off to the side, and gestured for Ash to take a seat. "Hungry?"  
Ash smiled nervously, fidgeting as though this were a first date. "Okay . . . you don't have to ask me twice. When am I not hungry?"  
“Here." Misty handed Ash the Sweel action figure she had picked up for him at the performance shows. His demeanor relaxed at once and he snatched it away from her, his chestnut eyes glowed like he'd just received a new Poke’dex!   
"Thanks, Mist!" Ash squeezed the toy and water sprayed from it’s nose. "Very cool. Now I really can't wait to see the real thing!  
”Shouldn't the Pokemon Master have been the first to see a Sweel?"  
Ash shrugged sheepishly. "I've been a bit lax on my duties lately, I guess."  
"That's my fault."  
"No, Misty, I didn't mean it like—"  
The waiter came by and Ash swallowed his sentence. He and Misty placed their food orders.  
As the waiter departed Misty handed Ash her diary.  
Ash recognized the secret book at once and noticeably flinched.  
Misty opened the diary to a specific page, the page where she relayed (detail for detail) her conversation with Giovanni in regard to the fate of Gary Oak.  
"Ash," Misty began calmly, "I want you to read these pages here. I want you to promise me you'll stay calm and not ask me questions about the content while we are here. We'll go someplace private and talk about it after."  
Ash nodded hesitantly. He accepted the diary as though it were coated in poison — grabbing it and dropping it upon the table so he'd not have to touch it again. After wavering for several seconds, Ash looked to Misty. She touched his hand over the tabletop to encourage him.  
Ash began to read.  
Misty watched his face carefully for any reaction.  
After only a few moments Ash's head snapped upward—his eyes were a bewildered russet storm. “Wha—?”  
Misty shook her head to hush him and pointed back to the diary. "Finish reading, Ash, please."  
Ash did. His eyes never again left the diary pages.  
Misty watched as Ash's lower lip began to quiver, as his breathing became ragged as his fists began to tremble . . . as Ash fiddled with something in his pocket. He pulled it out, it looked like a photograph, but Misty did not know what of as he held it close to his face. Ash's sight flickered back and forth between the picture and the text in her diary several times. Finally seeming satisfied, he stuffed the picture back into his pocket.  
The Pokemon Master covered his face with his hands.  
Knowledge is a curiously powerful thing for it can both grant freedom and condemnation with one meager fact. One moment yields blissful ignorance and the next is burdened with the morals of hindsight and foresight.  
Misty reached across the table and touched Ash's shoulder. He recoiled at her touch, his expression smashed by the sledgehammer of confusion and betrayal.  
For the first time in her entire life: Misty could not read Ash Ketchum. His face, his eyes, his very being . . . they were but a slate of dismay.  
"Misty, I’m—I'm not hungry," the words dripped from Ahe's lips like a pussing boil. He stood from the table with mechanical stiffness and faced her. "It's time for that private talk. Now."  
Ash slammed a handful of money upon the table to cover the food they were abandoning. Misty grabbed Ash's hand and — again— he stiffened at her touch, but did not try to shake her off.  
Misty understood why Ash was upset with her—she had known that Shard was truly Gary Oak all this time and she had not told him. Ash's longest friend had endured all these years and he'd not known. For Ash: Shard suffering ten bullets and plummeting to his doom was now an entirely different memory. It was not ‘Shard the enemy’ who fell, it was ‘Gary Oak his old friend’.  
Misty imaged that Ash now wished he had made an effort to save him.  
"I have to take you someplace, Ash." Misty whispered, pulling on Ash's hand.   
He lanced her with a suspicious eye, but shook his head in agreement. "Thank you, Ash. Please try to understand why I couldn't tell you before."  
"I can understand why you didn't tell me before, what I can't understand is why you showed me THAT NOW." Ash had been devastated when Gary Oak killed himself . . . and now, Ash had to mourn him twice.  
"You'll understand soon.” Was all Misty could offer.  
They walked silently for several minutes. As soon as they were out of earshot from others, Ash halted in his tracks. He grabbed Misty by her shoulders, forcing her to face him.  
"Shard was Gary Oak!" He hissed, barely containing an outburst. “By Articuno! He wasn't dead! He never meant to kill himself . . .he was drugged! Brain-washed! Used! Turned into a savage! Poor Gary . . .By Mew! I could have saved him from those Rockets. If only I’d known. I would have busted him out of there! And Giovanni? HE led Team Rocket . . . he was Gary's father . . . he tortured his own son like that . . . this is sick, Misty. Is it really all true?"  
"Yes. It is."  
"Why are you sharing this with me now? Why here? What happened after you got here, Misty? I need to know NOW because I can't take any more."  
Misty pointed to Gary’s cabana cabin, a few yards away.  
"You'll find out in there. Please, Ash, keep your voice down. Let's go."  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Imagine you are stranded beside an active volcano. Imagine that this very volcano is about to erupt. It would be a magnificent sight –- a view that many witness in person, but few live to relay. A person in this situation would experience both anticipation as well as morbid fear. But, also present, would be a sense of awe. Most would try to flee for their life, despite knowing their efforts for self-preservation are futile. When have human legs ever bested nature? Others would submit, pray for salvation and fall to their knees awaiting death’s burning grip. But, there would be one person who would climb atop the highest rock— aspiring for the grandest view of the volcanic fireworks. This one person understands and accepts their fate. It may not seem just, but it is their fate. Their fate to either embrace or loath. By embracing such a fate the swirling lava will not spell doom, but rather . . . destiny. And, as the scorching molten lava blankets the land, incinerating flesh and rock alike: it will be only THIS single, bold soul, atop the highest rock, which the rescue helicopter can reach.  
0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0o0  
Ash Ketchum held his breath.   
Misty was spending an exasperating-amount-of-time to simply pull open this cabin door. Once opened, she entered first and he followed. Ash stepped with caution, as though the very floor might cave in and swallow him whole. His mind reeled as the barbed confessions of Misty's diary snared within his brain. He would not be surprised if he’d suffered a bizarre concussion from the reading experience. Misty’s revelations assaulted his brain more vilely than a closed fist ever could.  
Gary Oak was murdered by Giovanni before Ash's eyes, and he'd done nothing to help him. . .  
Nothing.  
Ash had been so inundated by relief at having Misty back, that he'd been blind to the obvious around him. Or maybe he hadn't been blind? Maybe he had seen Gary Oak all along, but been too ignorant to recognize him? Either way, this meant that Misty had developed romantic feelings for Gary Oak. Ash shut his eyes. As strange as THAT was to comprehend, it was at least somehow better than her falling for some random killer Rocket.  
A killer.  
But Gary Oak was still Elite Rocket Shard, and Shard was still a killer. Shard had knowingly advanced romantically upon Misty, knowing that she was Ash's fiancée. It was all too terribly oppressive for his mind to endure.  
Why had Misty asked him to come here so suddenly? What was the matter with her? Couldn't she have shown him the diary when she'd gotten back . . .  
That was, of course, if she was planning to come back.   
Ash opened his eyes and allowed his sight leeway to absorb the cabin’s details. It was nicely decorated, an island theme, and also . . . overflowing with guns. Wait. Guns?!  
YES! There were weapons EVERYWHERE! Handguns, assault rifles, sniper rifles, hunting knives, a katana and even —was that a grenade?! WHAT THE HELL?  
Ash lanced Misty with a horrified stare! Where were they? Where did she take him?  
Misty smiled reassuringly, but Ash was far from reassured.  
“Misty! By Articuno, Moltres and Zapdos! Where the hell am I—”  
"Hey, Ashy-boy, how are ya? Nice hat.”  
That voice . . .  
Ghost.  
It's so familiar. . .  
Phantom.  
Oh my . . .  
Poltergeist.  
It can't be . . .  
Spirit.  
Him . . .  
Undead.  
To face such a ghastly sight! To see the restless soul of the brethren you let fall . . .  
Ash did not run or faint. He pulled off his sunglasses and faced the demon of guilt . . .  
There, from a door along the far wall, a young man was approaching them. Only, he did not look like a ghost. This young man was about six feet tall, lean and muscular with bright blue eyes and long unruly spikes of brown hair . . .  
This was NO ghost.  
And now did Ash's knees nearly give out beneath him. Misty grabbed Ash's arm and tried to hold him up, but she was failing fast.  
“By Mew . . ." Ash stammered, "it's –it's you!"  
Gary Oak – a person who died, TWICE – came waltzing over to him, hand extended. Ash accepted Gary's hand and allowed his very old friend to steady him.  
"How are you, Ash?” Gary repeated thoughtfully, the smile dissolving from his face.  
"I. . ." Ash pulled his hand from Gary's and instead leaned against the wall for support. He looked to Misty, wholly baffled, then back to Gary. "What? But? You died . . .?"  
“No." Gary corrected, as he always loved to do. "I re-created my grandfather’s Ghost-type property potion and injected myself with it a few seconds before I was shot. It caused my body to become partly dead, so the gunshots did not affect me longterm. Dead flesh can't be killed."  
Ash breathed as though it were his final breath, desperate to understand what was going on . . . and what it meant for him . . . and . . .  
Ash looked at Misty.  
Misty was looking at Gary.  
Misty was smiling and this smile was radiant enough to outshine Ra'Tala's famous sun. She was happier now than Ash had ever seen her before.  
This was the Misty he loved. The Misty who had disappeared with Elite Rocket Shard over that cliff. And now the woman Ash adored had been suddenly reincarnated along with the Rocket – along with Gary Oak.  
"Ash," Misty took his hand and rubbed it gently, "do you understand now? Why I asked you to come?"  
“Yes,” he breathed, his eyes darting between Misty and Gary again. "I also know that you . . . but does he . . . also . . ." Ash could not say the word love.  
Gary's face stiffened, fully understanding Ash's unspoken word. Gary shook his head, he clearly did not want to hurt Ash, but he was unable to avoid it. "I'm sorry, Ash. I never meant to fall for Misty. I know you two are engaged, I respect that more than you probably know. But I have very real, vey strong feelings for her. I died for her, Ash, and I'd do it again."  
"I – I believe you." These were the only words that Ash's lips could assemble. If only his joy could completely eclipse his sorrow . . . but Ash understood that 'if' was an empty word.  
Ash faced Gary and steadied himself. He lay a hand on his old rival’s shoulder, gripping him tightly. "Gary, what Giovanni did to you . . . I want you to know that, if I'd known, I would have rescued you. You're a good person, Gary Oak. I know that you never meant to do all of those terrible things—"  
"Yes, I did." Gary cut him off coolly.  
"What?"  
"I consciously murdered every single person."  
"But you're sorry—"  
"Of course I’m sorry. But I was a killer and if anyone comes after me I'll kill again. I wish I hadn't become what I am, Ash. You know me . . . this is never what I wanted for myself. But, thanks to Misty I have forgiven myself. I can't change the past, only accept it."  
“Good." Ash hesitated, gathering his wits. "Gary, I'll talk to the police. Once they hear what really happened, they'll be lenient. I'll help you get your life back. You’ll probably have to do some jail time, but I’ll get you the best attorney in the world. And I’m sure they won't put you away for long. Maybe I can get them to grant parole, or—-“  
"No, Ash!" Misty snapped his words like verbal twigs. "Don't you know what would happen to him?"  
Gary tensed, his voice ironclad: "Ash, I'm not going to turn myself in."  
Now it was Ash's turn to snap! "What do you mean? You have to do the right thing!"  
“Ash! Listen!” The command in Misty’s voice caused Ash to wince. "You know as well as I do that the police will have Gary on death row before next week! That is, if the Rockets don't assassinate him first!"  
"You're right . . ." Ash looked to Gary again. "If you're not planning to turn yourself in, then why did you ask me here? What do you want from me? I'm assuming you're not looking to rekindle our old friendship?"  
Gary shook his head regretfully. "If only it weren't too late for that. I hope not to rekindle the old rivalry either, Ash. I plan to stay here. To hide out on Ra'Tala for as long as time allows. I just want to live, Ash. Live my own life. Not the one Giovanni had planned for me. I just want to be left alone, to try and figure out who I am. If the Rockets ever learn that I'm still alive I'll be hunted like a rabid Tyranitar."  
"So you just brought me here to tell me you want to be left alone? Do you need money or something? Gary, I'll help you in anyway that I can, but . . ."  
"No, but thank you.” Gary said.  
Bewildered, Ash glanced at Misty for clarification. Misty was still staring at Gary. The two of them traded secret glances.  
Ash understood now. He reached out and took Misty’s left hand, pressing her pam to his heart. “Misty, I do love you."  
"I love you too, Ash. I always have." She smiled sadly . . . all of her words were true. Ash knew that the barb of truth often stabs more deeply than any lie.  
It was in this moment that Gary excused himself and walked toward the kitchen. He deemed this time to belong to Ash and Misty alone.  
"I'll protect him," Ash whispered, gesturing to Gary. "I'll do what I can on my end. I can get a news release produced that his body has been found. Dead. That should take some Rocket pressure off."  
"Thank you, Ash. . ."  
Ash touched her chin, raising her eyes to his. “You really like this guy, huh?”  
“I’m falling in love with him, Ash.”  
Gary glanced their way and his sight infused momentarily with Misty's . . . her face ignited with absolute affection . . . raw adoration . . . love. She had never once looked at Ash that way, not even on the day of their engagement.  
"Okay," Ash breathed, and he gripped her left hand a bit harder. "You know, Misty, there were times over the past two months where I wished that Shard would come back from the dead, just so I could see you like this again."  
"I'm happy."  
"Yes, you are. Misty, I have loved you my entire life. You are my best friend. Even though we only dated for a few months before getting engaged, I loved the idea of finally being with you so much that nothing seemed too soon or too rushed. But something had happened too fast. We both loved each other as children, but we'd not allowed ourselves time to fall in love as adults. We've changed, Misty, haven't we? I love you so much, and the thought of losing you breaks my heart . . . but the thought of being with the person you have become–being with the sad Misty for the rest of my life. . . I can't do it. I don't love her. I love the woman I see right now – vibrant, happy and alive. If I can't have her," Ash blinked back emotion and gathered all the resolve he had left: "then I don't want her at all." Ash slid the engagement ring from her finger and tucked it away in his pocket. Misty did not try to stop him.  
Tears now collected in her eyes like glistening orbs. Some orbs reflected sorrow and other remorse, but there were many that gleamed with gratitude. "I lost myself, Ash, and I've made you so unhappy and for that . . . I’m just so sorry. You are the best thing to ever happen to me. My best friend forever and ever. ”  
"I know. Mine too.” Ash pulled her into a hug and Misty's spilled her orbs upon his shoulder, infusing him with all of the tender emotions she'd harbored since this mess had begun.  
Ash wondered why he was not crying along with her? Indeed his heart wanted to cry . . . but another part of him felt remarkably content. And Ash was now experiencing an incredible flood of relief. This feeling was like icy water upon a burn –- it would continue to hurt for a long time, but the water grants fleeting reprieve from the aguish. The water is needed to begin healing.  
"I know that you're sorry, Misty. And I want you to know that I'm sorry for not believing you and making you see that stupid psychiatrist. You knew Gary was still alive and you never gave up on him. That's love and Oak better appreciate it or else."  
"I heard that." Gary mocked from the kitchen.  
Ash ignored the comment and addressed Gary with a question: "Will she be safe with you, Gary?"   
Gary approached them, gauging that their personal talk was complete.   
Ash continued: "I'll do what I can on my end, but, what happens if Team Rocket does somehow find you?"  
"They kill me."  
"And Misty?"  
"They kill her too."  
"That's comforting.” Ash ground his teeth. "Misty, are you sure you want to stay here?"  
"I need to be here."  
Ash nodded, he hadn't expected her to say anything else and he knew better than to try and talk Misty Waterflower out of anything anymore. "Okay, not only will I get a media release out that Gary's corpse has been found, but I'll also tell the media we broke off our engagement – that you needed time alone to sort out your life. It’s common knowledge that you hate living on the plateau and miss island life. I don’t think anyone will bat an eye finding you here.” Ash paused for several seconds before continuing: “You may even be safer with Gary than you would have been with me . . . so long as I'm Master you'll be bait for my power."  
"Thank you, Ash. I’m going to go home this weekend, I’ll tell my sisters that it's my turn to do some world-traveling. I still have to wrap up loose ends at my job on the Orange Islands, they’ve already found a replacement for me anyway. But it’s okay, because think I may have found a job here that would be perfect.” Misty smiled, remembering the ‘help wanted’ sign for a training director at the Sweel arena. “I'll be in touch and still travel to Kanto often. But, for now I just need to be here. I need to sort out what I want and what I’m feeling.”  
Ash cupped a hand over his mouth and breathed into it like an oxygen mask. This was it . . . Misty was really walking out of his life and into Gary's. Just like that. It was now or never. If he wanted to fight for Misty's heart then THIS truly was his last chance.  
But, as Ash studied Gary and Misty he could not deny how they looked at each other. They were more precious, more spectacular, and more cherished than any legendary Pokemon in one another’s eyes. This was one battle he could not best Oak at . . . nor did he have the drive to even try. Not when the prize had already given her heart away.  
Ash lowered his head. "I understand. Well, then," he turned toward the door and clicked it open. "I'm going to leave. Sorry for not staying to catch up Gary, but this is all too much, you know? If it’s cool with you guys, I would like to visit again though. Catch up. I just need time too.”  
“I’d like that, Ashy-boy,” Gary grinned warmly, then his expression suddenly turned excited. “Oh, wait. I have something for ya!” He hustled back to his counter and picked a Pokeball from a bowl, then returned to Ash and handed it over.   
“What—?” Ash began.  
But Gary cut him off: “It’s your Ditto. The one you tried to trick Glare into thinking was MewTwo. I stole it. Poor thing was miserable with her.”  
Ash’s smile could have swallowed the Pokeball whole! “Thank you! I’m so happy and Lance will be too! We were so worried about Ditto.”   
In addition to his ability to cut off Ash’s words, another quality of Gary Oak’s had endured: he valued Pokemon above all else. This was a value both men had shared their entire life.  
"I'll walk you to the dock.” Misty offered, dabbing at her wet cheeks with her hand.  
"Why don't you just walk me to the Sweel aquarium? I'm going to stick around for a while. It was a long boat ride, seems like a waste to go right back home. After I go though, just be careful? And if anything goes badly, anything at all, I'm always going to be your friend Misty. I'll always be here for you."  
"I know."  
"Gary, please, just—“  
"I will. I'd die for her."  
“Again." Ash corrected with a small smirk.  
Gary matched his grin. "Yes, I'd die for her again."  
Misty beamed at Gary as she and Ash left the cabin. The two life-long friends strolled down the beach arm-in-arm.  
0o0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o0 0o0o0o0o0o00  
An hour later Misty returned to the cabin. Gary was grooming Sam on the floor. Every scale gleamed like a precious gemstone and Sam knew it. The Vaporeon yapped proudly, strutting like a pageant Pokemon to greet her. Misty stroked Sam, ‘oohing and awing’ over his beautiful sheen. Misty had been blinking back tears upon entering the cabin, but seeing Sam so gleeful blasted a grin directly upon her face. She loved Sam, she loved Ra’Tala and she loved . . .  
Gary approached her, a debonair smile lighting his handsome face. Sam cocked his head, eyes ping-ponging between the two humans. He quickly deduced that they were far more interested in ogling at each other than at him. Yawning, he scampered away into the bedroom. All of that grooming was considerably exhausting. After all, it wasn’t easy to look so exquisite. A nap was in order.   
As Sam vanished into the bedroom, Misty closed the distance between herself and Gary Oak.   
"I broke his heart. But, he’s going to be okay.”  
“Yes, he is." Gary pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. "Ash loves you, Misty. Enough to let you go. He’s become an incredible man. I'm proud of him."  
"So am I."  
Gary lowered his head, his lips brushing her ear: “I will keep you safe.”   
Now did his hands glide upward, so tenderly from her back to her face. And Gary held her as though he were clutching his own beating heart within his hands. He grazed her lower lip with a thumb, and his touch— though feather-light— elicited a powerful shiver within them both.  
“And I'll keep you safe."  
"Oh really?" Gary cracked a mischievous grin, sapphire eyes glinting with challenge. "But can you save me from yourself?"  
Misty answered him with her hands. Her small fingers boldly ventured down his stomach and she seized the bottom of his t-shirt. With a wink, Misty greedily pulled his shirt up and off, as though it were the wrapper on a decadent candy. She raised an impressed eyebrow, marveling at his gorgeous physique. Gary was lean, athletic, tan and had a set of abdominal muscles that Misty could actually count. And she most certainly planned on doing just that.   
Misty grabbed the top of his shorts and eagerly directed Gary toward the couch. He did not protest. Rather, he went along, hands in the air like a very willing prisoner. “Well, Misty,” he was already panting, "I think that Elite Rocket Shard—"  
"Gary."  
"Right, I think that Gary has finally met his match."  
The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this story. A review would mean the world to me. So pretty please leave one?   
> Don’t forget to visit my website: egoshipper dot com for story art!   
> Best wishes to you all, Maia's Pen


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